Little Bird in the Wild
by Winter's She-Wolf
Summary: When Ned Stark is taken prisoner in King's Landing, Sansa and Jeyne manage to escape captivity only to find themselves thrust into unsavory company and rustic conditions. Disguised as boys, they travel north with a group of Night's Watch recruits with the hope of safely returning home.
1. Chapter 1

**Chapter One**

_She had grown up to the sound of steel in the yard, and scarcely a day of her life had passed without hearing the clash of sword on sword, yet somehow knowing that the fighting was real made all the difference in the world. She heard it as she had never heard it before, and there were other sounds as well, grunts of pain, angry curses, shouts for help, and the moans of wounded and dying men. In the songs, the knights never screamed nor begged for mercy. _–AGOT

* * *

As their train of wagons and horses rolled through the gates of the Red Keep, Sansa Stark thought her heart might just burst from her chest.

_It isn't fair, _she thought.

In King's Landing she had seen all of her dreams step into reality. All of the gallant knights and beautiful ladies, the fine courtesies and pageantry, the handsome, golden prince who would make her his queen. All had been hers to grasp. Now, her dreams grew smaller and smaller as she made her decent down Aegon's High Hill. She couldn't even bid her beautiful prince farewell.

"Joffrey will think me cold and untrue," Sansa called back to Septa Mordane, who rode behind her and Jeyne Poole. Though tears pricked at her eyes, she willed them not to fall. A true lady and queen did not make a scene in public. "The queen will think me ungrateful. Please, Septa Mordane. Please let me go back. Just for a moment. Just to say good bye. I will miss Joff ever so much."

"No." The septa's tone brooked no argument. "I will hear no more on the subject. Your lord father already forbade it. Truly Sansa, the capital has been nothing but a horrid influence on you. With all this obstinance and trying to run off- I swear, you are becoming as wicked as Arya."

Earlier the septa had caught Sansa attempting to sneak away to visit Queen Cersei. She planned to beg the queen to intervene on her behalf. If only she could convince King Robert to order Lord Eddard to keep Sansa in King's Landing… But it was not to be. Septa Mordane put a halt to the plan before she even took a few steps from the Tower of the Hand. For one of the few times in her life, Sansa received a thorough scolding and suffered under the disappointment in her father's gaze.

To make it all so much worse, when they were all packed and ready to depart, Arya was late. They sat for the better part of half an hour waiting in the yard amongst the wagons as her little sister delayed them with her last minute dancing lesson.

A woman Sansa recognized as one of the queen's handmaids passed through the yard during that time. Sansa had smiled at her and the handmaid nodded in acknowledgement. But Sansa had dared not call out to her. Septa Mordane would have scolded her again. Yet Sansa could not but wonder if she should have taken the risk so she might ask the handmaid to take her farewells to the queen and perhaps even a plea for help. But that was too late now.

Their party tuned onto a narrow curving street that Sansa knew from her lessons to be the Hook. Several of the commons watched them curiously as they passed. She tried to smile for them.

A ways behind, Sansa could hear Arya's voice. As always, her little sister preferred the company of others to Sansa's and rode separate. She glanced back to see her sister riding between her bald dancing master and Desmond, one of the guards. Arya chattered away without care. Of course she would. Arya didn't like anything to be nice or beautiful. She actually _wanted_ to return to boring, colorless Winterfell.

Chest burning with irritation, Sansa turned away from her sister and focused on the path ahead.

When they departed, Arya's tears weren't for the splendid castle they were leaving, but for the fact that Father wouldn't be returning home with them.

"Would that I could come with you, sweet one," he had said with a blend of affection and grimness. "My duty is here for now. If the gods are good, I will see you..." He reached for Sansa as well. "...both of you, before long."

He had kissed them both in turn and didn't even scold Arya for making them late. That burned all the more fiercely given Sansa's own scolding earlier.

As they continued to ride she heard a commotion behind her, but kept her gaze resolutely ahead. There were some shouts and exclamations of surprise. Sansa mildly wondered if a wagon wheel had come loose or if her sister had done something shameful that would earn her no serious punishment.

The shouts persisted and grew louder. Tomard, who led their party ahead of Sansa's chestnut mare, curiously glanced behind them. His expression curdled like sour milk. His lips sputtered aimlessly making his ginger whiskers shudder.

Sansa knew Jory or Alyn would never have looked so undignified. But Jory was dead. And Alyn had gone away with many of the other guards to assist Lord Beric Dondarrion in exacting the king's justice upon Gregor Clegane. That left many important responsibilities on Tomard.

"Is something amiss, Tom?" Sansa asked.

They had come to a stop. Tom looked at her and then behind her again. His expression made him look as though it were terribly painful for him to think.

"You leave him alone!" Sansa heard her sister cry.

A few commoners raced by them in haste.

Finally, Sansa turned around to look back up the inclining street as the sound of steel shrieking against steel filled the air. Gold-cloaked City Watchmen on foot flooded around their wagons, clashing swords with Stark men. But they weren't just fighting armed me. She saw one thrusting steel through the belly of a washerwoman.

Jeyne cried out beside her. She would have done the same, but her friend's outburst seemed to calm her some.

Over the top of the wagon behind her, Sansa saw Arya, still between her dancing master and Desmond. City Watchmen on either side fought the men in the cramped street and Arya shouted for them to stop. Sansa wondered at the bald dancing instructor's skill in combat. He moved with a fluid grace she had never seen before.

Her eye line suddenly filled with Septa Mordane. "Sansa!"

Had she been calling her name for some time?

"Sansa girl, Jeyne, ride on!" Tomard cried. He turned to another guardsmen. "Cayn, take them to the Wind Witch. See that they get aboard safely. I'll- gods… Go, now, the lot of you!"

Sansa gave another look back at Arya, still atop her horse, looking frightened and furious. Her sister couldn't ride on. Wagons had halted in front of her as the fighting spread.

"Sansa!" Septa Mordane cried. "You will do as Tomard commands. Ride on. Quickly now!"

She obeyed, urging her chestnut mare forward down the curving street after Cayn. Jeyne road beside her breathing hard from her sobs. She could hear Septa Mordane's horse following behind, trying to match their brisk speed.

"Those men were in the City Watch." Jeyne's voice was harsh and shrill. "Why are they doing this?"

Sansa couldn't understand this anymore than her friend could. Her mind still quaked from what they had just seen. Those gold cloaks drove their swords through the servants as though they were made of nothing more substantial than cheese.

"My father!" Jeyne's brown eyes were wild with fear as they turned onto a wider street crowded with smallfolk and silken litters. "I didn't see him. Did you?"

Vayon Poole had ridden back at the start of their journey to see to a problem with one of the rear wagons. He hadn't returned by the time the gold cloaks came.

"They wouldn't hurt him, not a steward," Sansa said. She was trying so hard to be calm, to think. But all that blood... "Your father doesn't even wear a sword. They wouldn't attack him."

But they hurt the servants who were unarmed and doing nothing more than riding on a wagon bearing their belongings.

Sansa didn't mention that thought to Jeyne, whose breathing had steadied some as they continued to ride.

Soon, the street opened into a busy square where fishmongers peddled their catch. They encountered an even larger crush of commons here. Men and women shouted out prices and promises of perfection to attract buyers. Smallfolk milled about, going this way and that from booth to booth.

To cut through the crowd, Cayn rode forward shouting, "Make way! Make way! In the name of the King's Hand, make way!"

His shouts did their work. A path slowly cleared as they moved along and many homely faces glanced up at them as they passed. Sansa thought she recognized one particularly filthy man dressed all in faded black who regarded them curiously. While she nodded and smiled at him courteously, she couldn't place how she could have possibly known such a man. His shoulder was twisted and he let off a foul odor.

Their small party continued their push through the square, glancing behind them every so often to look for pursuit. They were nearly half way to the River Gate. If only the people would make way faster…

But no. A rush of bodies suddenly threw themselves in their way, trying to rush out or through from the docks. The gates were closing.

Cayn cursed, wheeling his horse around to face Sansa. "Bloody gold cloaks!"

Sure enough figures in black ring mail under golden cloaks gave shouts from the ramparts above the River Gate.

"We should return to the Red Keep," Sansa said. "We'll tell Father and the king what happened. They'll make them stop."

"Little lady, the City Watch takes their orders from the king and his Hand," Cayn said. "Something's amiss here."

Had Father and King Robert quarreled? Was he upset over Sansa being sent away before she could wed Joff as they agreed? Marriage contracts were seen as sacred in the eyes of the gods. To break a betrothal was to break a holy vow. The king might see this as treachery.

Sansa saw that as yet another reason they ought to return to the Red Keep. If she came back and stayed as she should, everything would be set to rights.

She was about to explain this to Cayn when the guard jolted. An arrow had suddenly taken root in his chest as though by magic, followed quickly after by another.

Jeyne's scream filled Sansa's ears along with a cacophony of noise, but she couldn't move or think of anything else. Sansa could only watch unflinching as Cayn grasped at his bare throat, his mouth flapping open. Her tummy churned at the ragged sucking and gasping sound he made.

_He can't breathe,_ she realized, helplessly squeezing her mare's reins.

A hand shook Sansa's arm roughly. Septa Mordane stood beside her horse. The old woman's face was all terror and determination.

"We must away," she said. "Quickly, now. They come."

And so they did. Sansa looked about herself. The City Watch advanced on them through the crowd on both sides. Three gold cloaks pushed and shouted as they inched closer from the River Gate behind Cayn, who now slumped in his saddle. Still more shuffled their way forward from back the way they came. These ones were on horseback, a few of them holding crossbows. They called for the commons to part before them, threatening to ride them down.

Sansa wished to obey her septa, but she could scarcely think through her own trembling. And where was there to go? People were everywhere swarming around them in an ever growing frenzy. The panicked commons seemed to slow their pursuers as they tried to escape through the far narrow streets connected to the square or rushed here and there, shouting.

"Now, Sansa!" Septa Mordane said more insistently. "You too, Jeyne. Quickly! This is no time for obstinence."

Drawing in a deep breathe, Sansa slipped down from her mare and Jeyne followed suit.

The septa clasped Sansa's hand and instructed her to hold tightly to her friend's. Jeyne continued to weep, though not so loudly. She clung to Sansa with both hands as Septa Mordane led them through the press of bodies. When Sansa looked back, she could only see nameless men and women rushing behind them. Cayn, their horses, and the City Watch were nowhere to be seen. The relief at that nearly made her lightheaded. A childish part of her clung to the hope that if she couldn't see them, they couldn't see her.

Though the commons thickened as they drew closer to the western side street, there was a continuous movement. They seemed to have become caught in a current of bodies and none of them dared lax their hold on the other, lest they get lost in the ever coming flow.

Jeyne let out another shriek just as they reached the Street of Steel.

Sansa dreaded turning to see what was happening.

"Quiet, girl," a harsh voice said behind them.

He sounded slightly familiar, so Sansa dared to look round. She saw that filthy man in faded blacks. He had a hand on Jeyne's shoulder, pushing her forward. Half a moment's contemplation and Sansa recalled where she knew him. At court! He was the black brother asking for recruits for the Night's Watch the day her father sat the Iron Throne.

"Keep moving!" he called.

_What does he want?_ Sansa thought as she kept pace with Septa Mordane.

They made it a ways into the Street of Steel before the black brother called for them to turn into an alley. The septa looked back at him warily. But then there seemed to be a spark of recognition in her eyes and she did as he said.

The crush of people pressing against them instantly disappeared once they separated themselves and shifted into the alley. Sansa stopped to rest and recover her nerves, but the dirty man pushed them on.

"What are you doing, girl? You want those gold cloaks to catch you, is that it? They'll find you quick as spit if we stop here."

But he did take a moment to remove his cloak and drape it around Sansa and Jeyne and lifted the hood over their heads. The rotten cloth encompassed them in his stench and hung over their finer garments. If she wasn't so frightened, Sansa would have flung it away for fear that the scent would cling to her gown.

"Who is he?" Jeyne breathed into her ear as they hurried along. The cloak dragged in the damp streets, concealing their skirts from view as they followed.

"He's a man of the Night's Watch," Sansa said. "He's the one I told you about. He came to court and Father said he could take the prisoners as recruits. Remember?"

Jeyne nodded. Sansa knew she was lying, but didn't say so.

He led them down damp alleys that reeked like a privys, and made sharp turn after sharp turn. Along the way, Jeyne gasped, shook Sansa's hand, and pointed up ahead of them. There was a reason this place smelled so foul. A woman emptied a privy pot directly out her window. The girls instantly lifted their skirts off the ground only to find their hems already soiled and their boots caked.

"What are you stopping for?" the black brother demanded. "Hurry it up!"

"Come along, girls," Septa Mordane said.

They obeyed, cringing at every puddle they splashed in.


	2. Chapter 2

**Chapter Two**

_In the songs, they were called the black knights of the Wall. But this man had been crookbacked and hideous, and he looked as though he might have lice. If this was what the Night's Watch was truly like, she felt sorry for her bastard half brother, Jon. _–AGOT

* * *

Sansa had no notion of where they were by the time they finally came to a halt in one of the deserted alleys.

"Thank you, ser, for your help," Septa Mordane said.

"You might not want to thank me yet." The black brother openly spat, prompting Sansa and Jeyne let out matching gasps. "I'll be damned if I know how to hide you."

He scowled, looking around them. A silence passed.

"Not to appear ungrateful, but what prompted you to step in and help us?" the septa asked.

"I saw the City Watch kill your guard in the square. Recognized that grey and white cloak he wore, and knew him to be one of the Hand's men. Are the two o' you Lord Stark's older daughters?"

"Oh, forgive us for forgetting our courtesies," Sansa said. She quickly introduced herself, Septa Mordane, and Jeyne. Then she asked who he had the honor of being.

"Won't say it's an honor, but just the same, I'm called Yoren." He spat again. "Why was the City Watch after you?"

"As to that, we cannot say." Septa Mordane looked about in distress.

At the end of the alley, Sansa saw the castle rise in the distance, red against the blue sky.

"We should go back," she said. Yoren and the septa turned to stare at her. "To the Red Keep. We must talk to Father and the king. We must. They have to know what the City Watch is doing."

"The City Watch takes all o' their orders from the king and his Hand," Yoren said.

Sansa remembered Cayn explaining the same thing. Cayn… She remembered the blood and the sickening sound of him struggling to breath.

Quickly, she pushed the memory aside.

"There's something queer about this." The old man frowned through long, greasy black hair. "You go back to that castle and might be you'll find it isn't your father or Robert ruling the Red Keep."

"The king took a hunting injury," Septa Mordane said. "The gossip around the castle was that he might die. I paid it no mind, but, gods be good…"

But if King Robert was dead that meant her prince was king now. Surely he wouldn't send guards into the streets to commit murder. He was too gallant. No, something else must be wrong, but she couldn't think what that would be.

As Septa Mordane and Yoren discussed the matter, Sansa and Jeyne huddled together beneath the faded black cloak, trying not to choke on the foul smells around them. Finally, it was decided that they would take refuge in the modest lodgings the black brother had taken. The septa initially insisted on the three of them taking a separate room from Yoren's. It was only decent. But the old man said taking another room would cost too much and attract unwanted attention.

"They'll be looking for a highborn girl," Yoren said. "Best we don't make anyone look our way."

Their small party hurried briskly through more streets and deserted alleys before coming to a halt beside the rear of a shabby building.

"Stay here," Yoren said, before hurrying away down the alley.

Once he was out of sight for some time, Sansa turned to her septa. "I don't like this place. Mightn't it be better to just-"

"I know," the old woman said, her face creased with worry. "This is not what you are used to. But, Seven help us, we have no notion of what is happening."

Sansa knew she shouldn't argue with her septa, but …"Can we trust him?"

She was always taught to admire men of the Night's Watch, but this man was so ugly and dirty and smelly. And he was leading them through filth into a building they wouldn't trust to house their horses.

Septa Mordane's frown seemed to say that she shared her uncertainty, yet she said, "Who better to trust than a man of the Night's Watch? He's a black knight of the Wall just like your uncle."

The back door of the building opened to reveal the black brother. "Wouldn't say I'm some knight. But your uncle's the reason I'm risking my neck for you. If it weren't for him I'd have minded my own business and kept buying supplies for the recruits. Now don't make me regret it. Get in here. Be quick about it."

They quickly obeyed. The girls huddled close to each other and clasped hands as they climbed the creaking stairs. At the top of the landing they saw a hall with doors on each side. Yoren led them to a tiny room that Sansa thought would be too small for one of them, let alone the four of them. The space held little more than a bed, a candle on the sill, and the black brother's belongings.

Yoren cursed once the door shut behind them. He looked them over as if for the first time and raked his fingers through that dirty tangle of hair. Sansa was only grateful he didn't spit again.

She and Jeyne slipped from beneath the grey cloak and she offered it back to Yoren.

"Thank you kindly," Sansa said politely. "We are in your debt."

He nodded and tossed the cloak on the bedpost. "Where's your sister?" he asked. "The little one in breeches. I saw her when I met with your father."

Sansa's first response was mortification. She felt her cheeks flush. Why must Arya always go about in riding leathers or those cut off breeches? Most, thankfully, didn't recognize her as one of the Hand's daughters, but this man had.

Then of a sudden, she recalled what happened in the Hook. The City Watch fighting and slaughtering their people. Her little sister trapped between her dancing master and Desmond, who each fought gold cloaks on either side of them. The City Watch wouldn't have killed her too, would they?

"The last we saw Arya, our party was being attacked," Septa Mordane said. "She was too far back in the train. We dared not return for her once Tomard sent us on. I had hoped- Men grown wouldn't harm a child. They wouldn't."

Yoren stared at her, doubtful. "Might be they wouldn't hurt a highborn girl unless there was some profit in it for them or if they were given orders. Best I can do is go out and hear what the talk of the city is. You lot will have to stay here until I get back."

"You mean to leave us here?" Sansa asked.

"This is not a fine place for ladies, I'll give you that," he said. "But it's safer for you than the streets right about now."

The black brother left them in the tiny room for hours. Immediately after he closed the door, Septa Mordane slid the bar across the door and began muttering a prayer.

To pass the time, Sansa and Jeyne watched the people below from the one window in the room which faced out onto the front street. They made up little stories about some who passed them by, what types of lives they led and where they were going. Sansa realized they might be close to Flea Bottom on account of their style of clothing. But that only allowed them to create more fantastical tales.

By the time they were giggling over a man struggling to urge on his mule, Sansa almost felt as though the world wasn't crumbling around them. She was able to forget that they witnessed the murder of many of their people. But one glance over her shoulder at Septa Mordane pacing anxiously about the tiny room, and the illusion shattered. Sansa decided not to turn around anymore.

Instead, she focused on the beautiful woman with skin as dark as teak and a basket hanging from her arm. The woman's bearing was dignified and graceful. Sansa decided the woman was a fallen princess who must live among the commons now that she is exiled from her homeland.

"The man pushing the wheel barrel." Jeyne pointed. "What of him?"

"He…" Sansa pursed her lips, considering. "He's pretending to-"

A frozen hand took hold of Sansa's heart and squeezed. Both girls drew in sharp breathes before falling to their knees and crouching below the window sill.

"What is it?" Septa Mordane asked, her hand pressed to her chest.

"The City Watch," Sansa whispered.

The black ring mail and the golden cloaks were unmistakable. There had been two of them strolling down the street toward them, laughing.

The septa shooed them away from beneath the window and had a look for herself.

"Seven save us," Septa Mordane said in a hushed voice. "Did they see you?"

"No," Sansa said. "…I don't think so."

_They hadn't,_ she insisted to herself, though doubt began to creep within her mind. What if they had?

"Have they passed us yet?" she asked.

The septa didn't look at her right away, continuing to watch.

"Stay calm," she said, at last. The septa walked calmly to the door and shook the bar to make certain the heavy wood remained firmly in place.

"They came inside, didn't they?" Jeyne asked. "They're coming for us!"

"Hush," Septa Mordane said. "Yes, they came inside. But they did not look to be about any serious business. We may be above a … a tavern, most like." Her mouth tightened at that, but she continued. "And- and mayhaps they wish for a drink and this has naught to do with us."

Still, they stayed quiet and well away from the window. Septa Mordane took a seat upon the bed and began to pray once more. She prayed for them, for Arya's safety, and for the safety of Lord Eddard. That last made Sansa uneasy. Why should the septa think her father was in any danger? Surely no one would dare hurt him now that the wicked Kingslayer fled. He was the King's Hand.

The light faded steadily and Sansa's legs grew weary of standing so long. She had wished to avoid sitting upon the bed of a man who was scarcely more than a stranger to her, but she gave in now. Jeyne followed suit, which made her a bit more comfortable.

"How much longer must we wait?" Jeyne asked.

"Until Yoren returns," the septa said.

Sansa glanced down at her hands and considered the most polite way to form her thoughts into words. "He- he isn't like Uncle Benjen or the men of the Night's Watch we hear about in the stories."

If Uncle Benjen or a man who dressed and spoke nicely had come to court and told of the Wall's need of men, knights would have been tempted to give their service in defense of the realms. But no one wished to take up service alongside some smelly old man.

"He is a man of the Night's Watch," Septa Mordane said. "And we have little and less options at the moment. We should be grateful he is willing to risk himself for you." She took a long cleansing breath before blowing the air out slowly. "Sansa, it would not be unwise to be afraid right now. There is much uncertainty here and we may find we have few friends. Your lord father was likely trying to send you girls away for a reason."

The three of them said very little to each other after that. When they dared look out the window they nearly always saw men going in and out of the building, often laughing with friends. A hum of voices and laughter floated up from below as the sky darkened.

When Yoren sounded his return, night had already fallen and they sat in near darkness with only the one candle to light the room. Septa Mordane lifted the bar after making certain it really was the black brother.

The old man looked grim, the lines of his face made all the harsher by the dim light.

"What news?" Septa Mordane asked after a pause.

Yoren glanced at Sansa and cursed to himself. She jolted. She wasn't used to ungentle speech.

"All manner of stories are making the rounds of this stinking city," he said. "Some says the king sent the City Watch upon you on account of the Hand trying to smuggle out the royal treasury in them wagons."

"But he wasn't!" Sansa insisted. "Father wouldn't do that. He was only sending us home."

_Home._ Suddenly Winterfell didn't sound so unappealing to her anymore.

"Most like your father isn't guilty o' half or any of the tales getting passed about." Yoren spat. "Others swear he killed the king. Some say Renly had a hand in it, or did for the king hisself, explaining why he fled last night. I won't bother repeating t' other madness going about. Closest t' the truth I can find was from a couple o' gold cloaks I had a few drinks with down below. Friends o' mine who were lucky enough to make the Watch."

Sansa tried not to frown at the admission that he was friends with some of those men who had terrorized them earlier.

Yoren wouldn't have noticed even if she had. He had walked to the window to look out.

"The way they tell it, the queen gave orders for half the City Watch to stop the Stark girls and their household from escaping the city as quick as they could," he said, looking out over the slums below them. "The rest, she had them and the Lannister guard corner Lord Stark in the throne room after he claimed the new boy king was no king at all. They hold your father and sister hostage and name Lord Stark a traitor."

"Gods be good," Septa Mordane whispered.

"But…but Father wouldn't _do_ that!" Sansa wailed. "He wouldn't. Father knows Joff is to be king and I was meant to be his queen. He wouldn't betray the king or his son. He was King Robert's _friend_."

"The truth – whatever in the seven hells that is – don't mean spit now. The queen has your father in chains and the bulk of his power is near a thousand leagues away. Not much he can do from the black cell. Best he can hope for now is his lady wife rousing his bannermen. Might be she can even bring her kin from the Riverlands and Vale to their cause."

The thought of that soothed Sansa's racing heart. Her strong and capable mother wouldn't stand for this. She would set things to rights.

"But what of _my_ father?" Jeyne asked. Tears brought a shine of candlelight to her brown eyes. "Vayon Poole. He's Lord Stark's steward. He was a ways behind us when the City Watch came. Have you heard anything of him?"

Yoren hesitated and looked back at her, the lines of his face deepening. "There's no use lying to you. I haven't heard anything about a Vayon Poole. But them gold cloaks I talked to said they did away with every Stark guard and servant they got a hold of. They said the queen went into a fury at the mess they made in the streets. But what with her panic to stop you leaving, she told 'em to stop you lot anyway they could. Most like, your father's dead, child."

A beat of silence passed. Then a sob tore from Jeyne's throat.

"'Spose there was some use in not telling you," Yoren grumbled. "Hush now, we can't have anyone knowing I have you lot in here."

Sansa pulled Jeyne into an embrace. Her friend stood some inches shorter than her, so she was able to muffle her cries by pressing Jeyne's face into the nape of her neck as she stroked her friend's brown hair. As Sansa soothed and comforted Jeyne, Yoren and Septa Mordane spoke in hushed voices. She wanted to pay attention, but her mind began to fray with all that was happening.

This wasn't how things were meant to be. Her father couldn't be a traitor. He couldn't. But if he was did that mean she couldn't wed Joffrey for certain? Fresh tears pricked Sansa's eyes again. This wasn't fair.

The girls held each other for some time, soaking in mutual comfort.

"We'll need to be cutting their hair," Yoren said.

The words sliced through her grief.

"Whose hair?" Sansa asked, a new dread stirring in her tummy.


	3. Chapter 3

**Chapter Three**

_Lord Eddard gave me the pick o' the dungeons and I don't expect to find no little lordlings down there._ – AGOT

* * *

Sansa couldn't recall clinging to anyone so fiercely as she did while bidding Septa Mordane farewell.

Weeks ago she wept hardily at leaving the capital. Now she could scarcely manage to keep her eyes dry at parting with yet another piece of her old life in the form of her dear septa.

The older woman held her just as tightly. When they finally broke apart, Sansa was surprised at the emotion in Septa Mordane's face. Her speta had always been generous with praise and quick with reprimands. But she had rarely seen her weep.

Sansa's throat thickened at the sight of tears sliding down the older woman's face and soon she cried as well.

Initially, Sansa resisted this idea. How could she, or even Jeyne for that matter, pass for a boy? Surely that would never work. Yet, Yoren and Septa Mordane's combined efforts proved her wrong. The septa chopped Sansa's thick auburn hair short that first night. The black brother had taken Sansa's fine riding gown and gloves, and moonstone hairnet, as well as Jeyne's simpler dress, to sell. Sansa loathed giving up the hairnet even more than the gown. It had been a gift from Joffrey.

The garments and trinket reaped enough coin to buy a couple pairs of rough spun breeches and two linen tunics for each girl. Septa Mordane even managed to purchase two long lengths of cloth to bind the girls' growing chests so they appeared flat under their new tunics.

The little room they all shared had no mirror. The only way to see a reflection was in the window after dark with a few candles to light the room.

"I don't look like me anymore," Sansa had said once she took the measure of her new self for the first time.

The reflection in the window shared few resemblances with Sansa Stark of Winterfell. Even her face looked a stranger with wide exhausted eyes brimming with fear and misery. She resembled Bran or a softer Robb.

"Good," Yoren had said. "See to it that it stays that way and might be I can get the two o' you home to Winterfell."

Along with her gown, hairnet, and hair, Sansa even lost her name and station. She was Sam the orphan boy now, off to join the Night's Watch for a life of duty and the promise of steady meals.

Jeyne too had been forced to give up nearly everything she could lay claim to in order to become an orphan named Joe. In addition to that, Jeyne feared she may be an orphan in truth.

In the days that followed their escape, they heard much of Sansa's father and his stay in the black cells for treason against the crown. They even heard of Arya, locked away in Maegor's Holdfast. But after the initial gossip of all the carnage in the streets, little new was spoken of in regards to the Stark household and remaining guard. Or perhaps Yoren was wise enough not to mention any gossip which might upset Jeyne again.

Now that they were leaving, they would be parted from Septa Mordane too, their last link to home and family.

As they stood inside that terrible little room they had resided in for the past weeks, hopefully for the last time, the septa cupped Sansa's cheek and smiled sadly.

"You are a very good girl, Sansa," she said. "And you Jeyne, you are both such fine girls."

"_Boys_," Yoren said, slipping through the door and shutting it. "They're fine _boys_. Least ways they will be if they want to get themselves home."

Septa Mordane gave him a stern glare. She had given him quite a few of those as the four of them settled into an uncomfortable daily rhythm in that cramped space. The older woman shifted between gratitude at his assistance in their plight and disapproval of his rough speech and crude manners. Sansa knew that more than once Septa Mordane had seriously considered finding another way of keeping the girls safe so they wouldn't be exposed to Yoren's vulgarity and the dangers on the road. Perhaps taking them to the Great Sept of Baelor, where she herself was planning to seek sanctuary. But she also feared taking the risk of Sansa being recognized and taken into custody by the queen. So there was no help for it and they would part.

"I will be ever so good," Sansa said, smiling bravely. "I promise."

"Of course you will." Septa Mordane smiled back fondly and straightened Sansa's dirty white cloak. "You always are."

Yoren spat. "Now let's be off. I won't have that innkeep trying to squeeze even one copper more out o' me for taking too long to move out."

The girls and the septa left the inn the way they always did, through the back door leading into the alley. Sansa cast a weary gaze upward to make certain no one was preparing to empty a chamber pot over their heads. That happened to Jeyne once, forcing Yoren to escort her to a bathhouse, affording her the only full washing any of them had in all that time.

The three of them hurried through the alley to meet Yoren at the front of the inn where the wagons filled with supplies waited. The other recruits were to meet them there, as well as the gaolers with the prisoners bound for the Wall.

Yoren said a number of the beggars and orphans had expressed interest in joining them, if only for food and shelter, but he had no notion of how many would actually arrive.

"Some change their mind once they get to remembering our oaths of celibacy," Yoren had said. "Others are too hunger or young or both to care much 'bout that, at least 'til it's too late."

As each day went by, the black brother despoiled the image Sansa had of the Night's Watch, which Uncle Benjen had done such a fine job painting.

Once she had come to accept that she would part with her beloved septa and make the journey with only Jeyne and a band of strangers, Sansa steadied her unease by recalling the stories she heard growing up about the Night's Watch and the valiant black knights who guarded the realms of men from what lay beyond the Wall. Traveling with men preparing to join their ranks would be utterly safe.

Yoren was quick to disabuse her of that notion.

"The company you keep won't be nothing like your uncle or that bastard brother o' yours," he had said. "Lord Eddard gave me the pick o' the dungeons and I don't expect to find no little lordlings down there. This lot, half o' them would turn you over to the queen quick as spit for a pardon and maybe a few silvers. The other half'd do the same, only they'd rape you first. And your friend would get worse. So don't go thinking you'll find some shining knight among them you can trust with your secret."

Such talk made Sansa wonder for the thousandth time if turning herself over to the queen wouldn't be the best solution. Queen Cersei was kind and gentle and so was her beautiful prince – the king now! No matter what misunderstanding happened with her father, Sansa was certain they wouldn't harm her or even Arya. And maybe everything with Lord Eddard would be settled somehow.

Only… then she would remember what happened in the Hook and Fishmonger's Square and all the blood and screaming. And the knowledge that it must have been the queen or Joff who gave the orders.

Some nights Sansa awoke gasping in fright beside Jeyne in the bed they shared with Septa Mordane, those gory images still stirring within her mind. At such times she ached for Winterfell and the safety behind those grey walls. Her home possessed few knights, ladies, and minstrels and hosted no tourneys. But there was little to fear there. A moon's turn of travel with rough men would be worth reaching Winterfell, even if she had to do so as a boy.

As they rounded the corner and the packed wagons came into view, Septa Mordane stopped them.

"Keep safe, girls," she said. "Keep your heads down. Don't speak to anyone aside from Yoren unless absolutely necessary. And stay together. You'll be safer as a pair. You understand me?"

"Yes, Septa Mordane," Sansa and Jeyne said in unison.

"Before long you will be with your lady mother and all will be well."

Sansa's eyes stung with unshed tears as she watched the septa walk away and turn down a street that would take her toward Baelor. Sansa and Jeyne clasped hands.

"_Boys_!" Yoren shouted. "Get over here!"

Reluctantly turning back to the wagons, the girls joined Yoren beside the donkeys and coursers he bought for the journey. As soon as they were within reach, he slapped their joined hands apart.

"Boys don't go about holding hands." He spat. "Now each o' you gets a donkey to ride same as t' other orphan boys.

"Mightn't we ride in one of the wagons?" Sansa asked. She hated riding horses. It always left her sweaty and sore afterward. While she couldn't claim to be perfectly clean, what with the lack of opportunities to bathe, she didn't look forward to the aching after a long day's ride.

"The wagons are for supplies," Yoren said. "The two o' you need to blend in with the rest o' the orphan boys. So you'll be riding these donkeys or walking. The recruits and prisoners will be meeting us here soon. Then we'll be on our way. There won't be no trouble getting through the gates. The hard part will-"

He stopped as a plump man with a thick, wiry beard came striding toward them.

Yoren casually rested a hand at his hip. Sansa knew he kept a dagger there and could whip it out quick as anything when the need arose. Thrice she saw him flip the dagger out and press it to the throat or groin of a thief while she accompanied him to purchase supplies for their journey.

But this stranger didn't appear to be after Yoren's purse, if his fine cloak and comfortably plump build were any indication.

"You the wandering crow?" the man asked in a voice that seemed to scrape on its way out.

The black brother didn't move. "Who's asking?"

"A friend," the man said, "who has some good news for you."

"And what would that be?"

"Talk with me away from these…lovely recruits," the man said. The last two words were spoken in a tone so soft and fluttery they seemed to come from another person entirely.

"You two stay by the wagons," Yoren said.

Sansa kept her head bowed. Through her lashes, she watched them step away a distance. They stood closely together as they spoke just out of earshot.

Jeyne moved closer to Sansa. "Do you think he knows? Why did he call us 'lovely?'"

"Hush, I don't know," she said.

If he did know about them, wouldn't he go to the queen? She wished to listen but ladies didn't spy. And anyway, fear kept her rooted in place, even when others began to approach the wagons.

"These wagons headed to the Wall, boy?" asked a plump man in the leather apron of a stonemason.

Sansa nodded and cast a glance at Yoren. The stranger handed the black brother a pair of large purses. Though Yoren shook his head, he didn't hesitate to take them.

As they continued their conversation, a few more men and boys arrived, standing about anxiously. A lad with brown hair who was of a height with Sansa came to stand beside them. He gave them a nod and a brief greeting and said no more. Not long after, another boy, a fat one with straw yellow hair, joined them. He nodded at them and kept his face furrowed, looking around at everyone and making certain to meet their eyes. When the boy's eyes focused on Sansa's, she quickly looked to Yoren again.

He still spoke with the bearded man. He didn't seem pleased.

"What's the matter with you, ginger?" the fat boy asked. "You look scared."

It took a moment for Sansa to realize he was speaking to her. Her gaze returned to him with a start.

_ I_ am_ scared,_ she thought. _I'm ever so scared and I want to go home. _What was Yoren saying to that man? Was that man bribing him with those purses? Would they hand them over to the gold cloaks?

"You deaf or are you one o' them mutes?" he asked.

She swallowed and looked at the blond boy evenly. "I'm not deaf _or_ mute."

"You're just scared then? Well, if you're scared now, you'll piss yourself every day once we get to the Wall with the Wildlings and grumpkins and snarks."

"I will not!" Sansa cried, her pride overcoming her fear.

"Bet you're 'bout to wet yourself right now." The boy smiled an ugly piggy smile and sniffed at her. "You smell like you soiled yourself already – a few times over."

_If you knew who I was, you wouldn't dare say such things to me,_ Sansa thought. _You would be the one wetting yourself before ever daring to speak to a high lord's daughter like this._

But she couldn't be a high lord's daughter now. She was Sam the orphan boy and she had no idea why he was bothering her or how to make him leave her alone. When she, Jeyne and the others teased Arya, calling her "Horseface," her little sister would say saucy things back and sometimes run off in tears. Sam couldn't possibly do that. This wasn't Winterfell with all the safe hiding places and loving adults to flee to.

"This is a nice cloak," the fat boy said. "What's a stinky gutter rat like you doing with a nice cloak like that?"

Sansa clutched her thick white cloak about her. Their cloaks and boots were the only possessions Yoren didn't sell. "You'll be needing those bad on the road," he had said. "We won't be settling into no inns nor having servants putting up some pavilions."

Now this ugly common boy looked ready to relieve her of the cloak that would be her only shield against the outdoors.

When the boy ran his grubby hand over her shoulder, Sansa yanked the cloth away from him and hurried toward Yoren.

The bearded stranger's eyes snapped up at her approach, bringing her to an abrupt halt. She gasped as something crashed into her from behind. Sansa looked back, frightened, but it was only Jeyne. She stood just half a step behind her.

Yoren spat. "What part of 'stay by the wagons' was hard to remember, _boys_?"

"It's no matter," the bearded man said. "We've finished. You know what's to be done." He nodded at Sansa and Jeyne. "_Boys_."

Yoren's mouth twisted as he watched the other man stroll away down the street.

"One of the boys was bothering me," Sansa said. "The fat one with the blond hair."

The black brother's laugh was hollow. "That boy's the least o' your troubles."

"But mightn't you-"

Yoren charged beyond her toward the new recruits.

"All you men and boys who came to join the Watch, listen!" he shouted. "There's been a change in plans. We won't be heading out today."

The announcement was met with a hum of grumbling.

"But what about that food?" one of them asked.

"And the shoes," the boy with the brown hair said. "You promised us shoes."

"You won't be getting a lick o' either until we set out," Yoren said. "If any o' you lot are still looking to join up, meet me back here in three days' time at midday."

"But can't we get just a bit o' food" a greasy haired man asked. "Just a bite?"

"Sorry, lad." Yoren spat. "Now off with you."

More grumbling followed, but soon the men and boys who had gathered about the wagons dispersed.

"I was lucky to get that many." Yoren frowned at the wagons. "Gods only know how many o' them will be back."

"Is something amiss?" Sansa asked. This delay meant the return to Winterfell would take that much longer and Septa Mordane was gone now.

Yoren released a groan. "It seems I got me two new recruits. A lad who sounds like nought but trouble, and Lord Eddard Stark."

"My f-"

"Aye, our Hand of the King," Yoren said. "Seems he'll be serving on the Wall after he confesses to treason on the steps in front o' Baelor."

"So he _did_ commit treason?" Jeyne cried.

"But- but he wouldn't _do_ that," Sansa blurted. "He _wouldn't_. He would never commit treason and he would never stain his honor by saying he did."

"Not even if the queen had his daughter?"

Of course. Father was doing this for Arya. But if he had to confess treason, at least he would be allowed to keep his head and take the black. The Starks had manned the Wall for thousands of years. There was no shame in joining their ranks. And besides, this meant Father would travel with them. She need not be so frightened with him near.

"That man gave me a couple purses o' gold." Yoren spat. "For the 'inconvenience and added expense,' he said. Bah! It's all well and good, more niceties, but this ain't enough to cover the trouble having that boy with us might bring if what I 'spect is true."

"Is he a murderer or raper?" Sansa asked.

He scoffed. "Nah, that'd be too easy. I've handled more than my share o' them and I will again three days from now. But this- Might be I'm worrying for nothing." But he only scowled and raked his fingers through that oily hair. "Well, best be getting the wagons and goods settled and stowed away."

The day seemed to grow more hopeful. They ate a finer meal than they had since leaving the Red Keep. They shared a little meat pie in the common room with a sip of brown beer paid for with a bit of the coin the black brother received. After, Yoren even informed them they would share their own room.

"This is ever so much nicer."

Sansa never thought she would say that of a cramped little room with barely enough space to walk around in. But after weeks of sharing that room with a strange man and her septa, it seemed nearly a luxury to only share the space with Jeyne. With the black brother planning to sleep in the stables with their supplies, as he had done a few times throughout their stay, they were all on their own. Sansa could even slip out of those horrid, roughspun breeches and tunic.

But even as she walked about the tiny room in her smallclothes and chest binding, chattering about that grubby boy who bothered her, Sansa felt something amiss with Jeyne. Her friend had curled up on the bed after kicking her boots off. She kept her back to Sansa and didn't even undress.

"You can get out those horrid clothes," Sansa said. "It's only me now and those breeches are frightful scratchy."

She didn't look forward to sleeping beside her with that fabric scrapping against her calves.

Her friend didn't answer.

"Jeyne? Are you asleep?"

She had seemed tired and subdued after Yoren shared the news, and a silence hung over her throughout the rest of the day. Maybe she was sick.

"Jeyne?"

"Leave me be."

Sansa glanced over at her, startled. Jeyne never spoke to her crossly. She argued with Arya, Beth, and sometimes the servants, but she was always deferential to Sansa.

"What is it?" Sansa asked. "What's wrong? Is it that the journey was delayed? I want to go home too, but this way we'll have Father with us. And-"

"Your father committed treason," Jeyne said, keeping her back to Sansa.

Sansa didn't speak for a moment. She hoped she had misheard or that Jeyne would quickly take it back and beg her forgiveness. But her friend said no more.

"How- My father would never commit treason. Never."

"He's confessing to it." Jeyne finally sat up and looked at her. "If he hadn't committed treason, the City Watch wouldn't have come after us and killed everyone. Would Prince Joffrey and the queen send guards after the household of an innocent man?"

"Joff is _king_ now, not a prince, silly," Sansa said. "I won't talk to you anymore if you're going to say such wicked things."

"It isn't fair that your father is coming home with us when he caused all this," Jeyne said. "My father didn't do anything wrong, but he's the one who died. How is that just?"

A knot of guilt tightened in Sansa's chest. "We don't know he died. He might have been taken prisoner. Or maybe he's hiding," she said. "My father isn't coming home either. He's going to the Wall."

Jeyne's brown eyes narrowed. "Going to the Wall is not a punishment. That's what Starks do. Your uncle and brother volunteered to go."

"_Half_ brother," Sansa corrected, not knowing how else to respond.

Jeyne rolled over toward the wall again. "It isn't fair."

Sansa tried to think of something to say to get the last word, but then realized how childish that was. Instead, she strode toward the window to look out onto the street. Sansa jolted. Her own reflection greeted her in the glass. The sight of that short hair only sank her once high spirits even further. Sansa snuffed out the candle to do away with the sight.

"I'm sorry about your father," she said to the darkness. "I am, truly."

She hadn't had an opportunity to say it before. They had hoped to discover he was still alive. But now...

Jeyne didn't answer her.


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: **I just wanted to say thank you to all of you who have read, reviewed, and/or followed this story. I know this isn't the typical plot people would think of when looking for a Sansa-centric story, so it really means a lot that you're all giving it a chance.

**Chapter Four**

_She wanted to rage, to hurt him as he'd hurt her…._ – AGOT

* * *

Dreamless nights were numbingly peaceful. Much to be preferred over the groggy days spent sweating and jostling atop a donkey. But there were nights when Sansa did dream. Those nights made her fear closing her eyes.

She dreamed of Father. She dreamed of the crush of bodies straining and surging within the white marble plaza before the Great Sept of Baelor, trying to get a better view. In her mind, they became a many faced monster as they roared as one and demanded her father's blood. She dreamed of the gold cloaks throwing Lord Eddard down and setting him in place for Ser Ilyn Payne to… to…

Sansa never saw the King's Justice take her father's head in truth. Yoren had yanked her against his chest before she could run to the stairs of the sept. He held her in place as she struggled and screamed for mercy, willing Joff to hear her and retract his command.

Joffrey. She dreamt of him too sometimes. The way he smiled and how it set her tummy to fluttering in the seconds before he said the words condemning her father to death.

More than once, Sansa wondered what would have happened if she had returned to the Red Keep, if she had been able to plead for her father's life. Perhaps Joff would have listened. But then every time she thought of that, that horrid smile of his filled her mind. She thought of those thick wormy lips curving and those bright eyes shining in anticipation. No. He wouldn't have listened. He wished to kill Lord Eddard. He enjoyed giving the command.

At the thought, Sansa's tummy sloshed as though she might retch. But there was no fear of that. Her tummy was near empty.

A hand pressed against her arm. Sansa jolted and glanced up to find Jeyne looking at her with fear. Her friend rode beside her within the small column of Night's Watch recruits making their way up the Kingsroad.

"Are you…well?" she asked. "You look ready to fall from the saddle."

Sansa responded with some courteous words, thanking her kindly for her concern, but no she was perfectly well. Vaguely, she hoped the words came out properly, though she couldn't be certain.

Then she focused her gaze on Yoren's back and that faded cloak.

Submerged in her veil of grief, Sansa wouldn't say how many days had passed since they left King's Landing. She just knew that she slept on the ground, rode a donkey for hours at a time, and would sometimes eat a bit of hard bread or sausage just so Jeyne would leave her be.

A lightness filled Sansa's head as she watched the swaying of the black brother's cloak. For a moment, it seemed as though his twisted back was flipping abruptly to one side. Before she realized it was not him moving but herself, the road rose up quickly to catch her in a painful embrace.

A roar of laughter followed her to the ground. "What you been drink', lad?" one of the recruits shouted down at her. "Can we have a nip?"

The searing ache in her shoulder woke a sense of shame in Sansa. She tried to rise, tried to maintain a scrape of dignity. Though her arms felt weak as ribbons and the world continued to sway, she lifted herself up.

"On your feet, _boy_!"

A harsh grip tightened around Sansa's arm and snatched her off the ground. Yoren stood her up and she tried to support herself with all the strength left to her, but still leaned heavily upon him.

Yoren frowned at her. "We camp here tonight!" he shouted to the others.

"It ain't near dark yet," said Praed, a sellsword with a hacking cough.

"Don't recall asking what you think," Yoren said. "I told you we make camp here and now and that's what I mean to do." He turned his gaze back to Sansa and shook her hard. "And you. Don't go thinking we'll be stopping every time you decide to fall down. Slow us down again and you'll earn yourself a clout on the ear or worse. You hear me, Sam?"

Tears stinging her eyes, Sansa nodded.

_Don't cry,_ she ordered herself. _Don't cry. Well-bred ladies don't allow anyone to see their tears. _

Sansa forced herself to stand on her own.

"Go into the trees," Yoren said in a much lower voice. "I'll send Joe with some food. Eat it. Get your strength back. I meant it. I won't be stopping every time you go fainting."

Numbly, Sansa did as she was bid. She wandered a ways into the trees until she could only faintly hear the black brother shouting orders at the other recruits. Alone, the girl allowed her tears to fall. Jeyne found her some moments later on the ground with her knees drawn up against her chest.

"Here." Jeyne knelt beside her and stroked her back. "Eat. Yoren says you have to get your strength back."

With quick thanks, Sansa took the offered bread. It was hard when she took a bite. The bread was always hard now. Never chewy or warm or buttery. Just cold and hard.

To force herself to keep chewing, she concentrated on the pain in her shoulder and the desire never to fall that way again.

"You'll be able to eat meat for dinner," Jeyne said, still patting her back. "More of that salt fish. Won't that be nice? Better than those hard sausages."

Sansa knew her friend was trying to make up for the unkind words that passed between them before her father's execution.

"You know I wished no ill against Lord Stark, not for true," Jeyne had told her one night, when they went off alone to make water. "I was only afraid for my father. I didn't mean it. I didn't."

Sansa never responded to those apologies, afraid she might blame her friend for cursing Lord Eddard through her words. And she couldn't be angry with Jeyne. The steward's daughter was all she had now.

Once Sansa felt stronger, the girls took the opportunity to relieve themselves, each keeping watch while the other did her business. When they made their way back to the Kingsroad, Yoren was marching down the column, cursing at someone not to damage one of the wagon wheels as the recruits worked to move everything off of the road.

"When dinner comes, you must eat, and more than just a bite or two," Jeyne repeated, retrieving their donkeys. She led them off the road and through the trees where other recruits were setting up camp. "You might get sick and die, if you don't. And what'll happen to me then? Yoren might care about you, but-but-"

But why take such pains for the daughter of a steward?

Sansa remained silent. Jeyne tethered their donkeys to a tree beside those belonging to the other boys. Others went about building the campfires. Sansa watched everyone go about their routines as though seeing them for the first time. She watched them milling about as though nothing were amiss. Some of them even chatted and laughed. Did none of them know that Lord Eddard Stark, Hand of the King and Lord of Winterfell had been murdered? Didn't they care?

Jeyne tugged at her sleeve. "Let's go gather some kindling to keep the fires going."

Sansa turned to go further into the forest only to run into the fleshy body of Hot Pie, the boy who had teased her the day they were supposed to leave.

"Hey! Whadya think you're doing, you smelly gutter rat!"

"Oh, I beg your pardon. I didn't mean to-"

Sansa cried out as she went hurdling backward to the ground. She landed a root punched into her back, inciting a most ungainly grunt. Her arms crossed over her flattened chest where he had shoved her with both hands. The mortification at a boy touching her there, even unknowingly, rivaled the physical pain.

"Leave he-h- Go away!" Jeyne stammered. "Or…or I'll _tell_!"

Hot Pie and his friend, Lommy, laughed riotously.

"'I'll _tell_,'" Lommy said through that braying laugh of his.

"You shouldn't go bumping into Hot Pie, stinky," Lommy said, pointing down at Sansa with a hand coated in green dye. "Last boy who messed with him got hisself kill't. Hot Pie kicked him to death right then and there."

"I knocked him down and kicked him in the balls and I kept kicking him there until he was dead," Hot Pie said. "I kicked him all to pieces. His balls were broken open and bloody and his cock turned black. I'll do the same to you too, if you ain't careful."

Sansa's heart plummeted as she saw Jeyne quickly retreat. She looked around her, but none of the other recruits seemed interested in doing anything but watching the scene play out.

"You ought to say you're sorry," Lommy suggested. "Or he might just do it right now."

"I don't want no sorry, I want that cloak you gots there."

"Why'd you want Stinky Sam's smelly cloak for?"

"Warmer than them rags Yoren gave us for blankets," Hot Pie said. "Now give it here."

The two boys blurred before her as tears filled her eyes.

"Leave him be."

Sansa's eyes followed the voice to find the muscled boy with the thick black hair. He sat against a tree trunk polishing a horned helm. He was the one Yoren said would be trouble. They called him the Bull.

When he spoke up for her, Sansa thought for a moment that she had found a champion. But the Bull remained where he was and the other boys continued looming over her. Hot Pie even took a step closer so he stood between her sprawled legs, preventing her from standing should she try.

"Give it here," the fat boy said. "Don't make me have to kick you dead."

If only she could tell him who she was.

_I am Sansa Stark, daughter of Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King,_ she would have told him. _When my lord father hears of this, he'll have your head on a spike._

But he wouldn't hear anything ever again.

"Please, just leave me be," Sansa said, trying to keep the tremble form her voice. "I beg your pardon for offending you. I didn't mean to."

"'I didn't mean to,'" Lommy mimicked, before braying again. One of the donkey's beside them answered his call.

Hot Pie laughed too. "You going to cry, stinky?"

Sansa was already crying and she hated for him to see it. She couldn't even meet his eye. Septa Mordane had taught her to keep her tears from the sight of others, and to show naught but dignity and strength. But with this horrid boy… She glared at Hot Pie's thick legs, despising him, longing to make him feel as helpless as she did, wanting to hurt him as he hurt her.

Sansa didn't recall consciously thinking to do it, but her leg swung hard into Hot Pie's shin, knocking the limb from beneath him. The boy fell hard to the ground with a thump and a grunt. A madness seized Sansa. If he meant to kill her for bumping into him, what would he do to her for knocking him over? He had already kicked another boy to death…

Before she could even consider what would be best to do, Sansa was already kicking him. First his pudgy legs, making him yelp. Then he let out a squeal when her boot struck between his legs. She kicked again and again until he curled into a ball and rolled to the side. Without realizing how it happened, Sansa was on top of him slapping at him with both hands. But she wasn't really striking _him_ anymore. It was those gold cloaks who brought terror and murder into her peaceful world and threw Father down to be slaughtered. It was Septa Mordane for leaving her to continue on without her. It was Joffrey for having her father executed. It was Ser Ilyn Payne who- who-

That gaunt, silent specter of a man appeared in her mind's eye and sent a shiver through Sansa's bones.

She scrambled away from Hot Pie until her back flattened against the tree her donkey was tethered to. The blond boy remained on the ground quaking as he sobbed.

Sansa gasped, horrified and frightened. _What have I done, what have I done, what have I done…_

Ladies didn't go about fighting people. How many times had Septa Mordane told Arya that when she caught her and Bran at rough play?

Sansa looked about for Jeyne or Yoren. She found that she had an audience. Some of the Night's Watch recruits chuckled openly. Most had grins on their dirty faces. But all of their eyes were fastened upon Sansa. Even Praed hacked out a laugh between coughs.

Sansa longed to run away, far, far away from the stares. But her body quivered so violently, she didn't trust her legs to hold her upright, let alone provide her with escape. Sansa drew her legs up against her chest, wrapped her arms around them tightly, and buried her face against her knees.

She didn't know how long she had remained in that state before Jeyne returned with Yoren.

"What in the seven hells happened here?" the black brother demanded.

"Sam's been beating on Hot Pie," Lommy said. "We was minding our own business and he starting pushing and kicking at him."

"That's a lie," Jeyne said. She stepped closer to Yoren so he partially concealed her. "The fat one shoved San- Sam down and said he would kick him until he died."

A boy with brown hair named Tarber walked over, and said, "I saw what happened."

"Did you now?" Yoren spat. "That's good because as it happens, I don't care. Sam! Get up!"

Sansa cringed as he snatched her up by the arm. She didn't know what she expected him to do, but she was not prepared for him to strike her. Yoren smacked her square on the ear, setting her head to ringing. Then he straightened her up and brought the back of his hand hard across her other ear.

Trying to catch her bearings, Sansa slumped back against the tree. Her head rang harder than the bells at Baelor.

"If you go fighting your brothers again, you'll get more than just a couple clouts on the ear. You hear me, _boy_?"

Sansa nodded, quickly.

"Good." Yoren smacked her again. "See that you don't forget it. You too, pie boy. Get up."

He turned to Hot Pie and forced him to his feet as well. Seeing the other boy struck by Yoren was almost like a balm to her own pain. She wanted him to hurt, even as she felt guilty and ashamed of the spectacle she had put on.

"You left me," Sansa said accusingly to Jeyne once the black brother walked away.

"I went to tell Yoren," she insisted. "We took so long because there was some trouble with the wagons. The one with those three prisoners in chains wouldn't turn off the road where we stopped."

That didn't sooth Sansa's frayed nerves or her shame. As the recruits continued on about their business, Sansa still felt as though everyone were laughing at her. They still looked at her every so often, particularly the blond man they called Qyle. He was often laughing and japing anyway. Now he watched her every so often, curiously.

"You fight like a girl," Tarber said that night as they ate their evening meal.

Sansa didn't know how to reply to that. She was certainly relieved that she didn't fight like a boy. But she couldn't say that.

"I'm not a girl," she said instead. She tried to concentrate on her salt fish though she had no taste for it. In Red Keep, they feasted on fresh fish and fine meats. Sansa was certain she would never grow accustomed to this tough cuisine.

"Never said you were." Tarber took a bite of his fish. "Just said you fight like one. Slapping and flailing your arms and all. If you hadn't kicked him in the balls, you wouldn't've hurt him a lick."

She glanced over at Hot Pie, who sat sullenly with his green handed friend. She wondered if all boys crumpled the way he did when kicked between the legs. When she and Jeyne used to watch boys and men practice in the yard, none of them ever aimed there. Maybe they weren't supposed to.

From then on, Hot Pie and Lommy Greenhands didn't bother her so much, except to call her Stinky Sam – which, much to Sansa's mortification, caught on with the other recruits. The only time they approached her directly after their fight was to inform her that kicking a man in the balls was a craven's trick. She had thought to mention that Hot Pie claimed to have killed a boy that way, but decided to hold her peace.

"I beg pardon," she said. "I had no wish to hurt you."

"You didn't hurt me, you stupid ginger!" Hot Pie shouted. "You just shut your smelly mouth."

The incident seemed to awaken Sansa from her fog. She still wept quietly at night as she huddled on the hard ground wrapped in her cloak. But during the day, she donned a face of steel. She held her head high and kept her features as placid as a pool of water. Sansa hoped that if she hid her fear and grief away from prying eyes, no one would bother her anymore.


	5. Chapter 5

**Chapter Five**

_"No, please," Sansa whimpered, "please, no." She didn't want this happening to her, not now, not here, not now, not now, not now, not now ._– ACOK

* * *

Each night, when she was finally allowed to slip down from her donkey, Sansa longed for a hot bath and a featherbed to soothe her soar body. But there was no bath to be had and only the ground awaited her when it came time to rest.

They traveled from the time the sun rose in the morning until it set in the evening. When the girls complained of the pain in their aching limbs and sore behinds, Yoren told them to stop their whining before giving them some soar leaf. That helped some, though it turned their spit red.

The further north they journeyed, the more people they passed travelling in the opposite direction. Men, women, children, elderly, they all passed them by in an endless flow. Most walked, carrying their belongings in hand or on their shoulders. Others rode animals ranging from horses to cows. A few pushed carts or wheelbarrows filled with goods. Sansa even saw a man pushing a wheelbarrow with two babies inside.

Few spoke to them as they went by, but those who did warned them to turn back, to run.

"There's war in the Riverlands," a woman leading a milk cow said. Her daughter rode atop the cow with her mud caked feet dangling. "They're killing and burning and stealing everything they get ahold of."

"The Lannisters?" Sansa asked.

The woman nodded. "Aye, them and the Tullys and the Starks. They're bringing naught but death and ashes between the lot of them. The Brotherhood's helping some folks where they can, but they're so few."

Many they passed spoke of the Brotherhood Without Banners, a motley band helping the commons. Jeyne gasped when they learned that Lord Beric Dondarrion was their leader. Months ago, when they had seen the handsome lord compete in the Hand's Tourney Sansa's friend had fallen in love with him instantly. So she asked every stranger who passed for news of him. For all the questions Jeyne asked, they couldn't make any sense of the stories they heard of him.

Some claimed he died. Some claimed to have heard he died more than once. But somehow he continued the fight for the smallfolk in the name of King Robert.

"Dead man fighting for a dead king." Yoren spat. "No wonder folks are fleeing south."

But Sansa and Jeyne thought the stories terribly exciting. They often asked question after question, learning of other figures in this Brotherhood, like the Mad Huntsman with his hounds and thirst for vengeance, and Thoros of Myr, that priest who had been such a vibrant figure at court.

One woman they passed was thin as a rail and wild-eyed with bare, bloody feet. "Fools!" she screamed from the side of the road. "They'll kill you, fools!"

The next day, they encountered a merchant looking to buy all of their goods and supplies for less than what Sansa's riding gown was worth.

"At least I'm offering you some fair coin," the merchant said when Yoren scoffed at his offer. "That's more'n you'll get from them up ahead. They'll steal all you've got and kill you all, most like."

But Yoren paid him no heed. The Night's Watch took no part in the matters of the realm, he insisted.

That same day, they saw the first graves alongside the road. One was small, for a child, and marked with a crystal. Sansa sadly wondered if the child belonged to any of the many they had passed. She whispered a prayer to the Mother to care for the poor young soul. Soon enough she was whispering another prayer for an entire row of unmarked graves. She felt sick inside not knowing who they were, just that they were dead with nothing but dirt to mark their resting places.

Soon enough, the recruits had to leave a grave of their own. Praed, the sellsword with the terrible cough, wouldn't wake up one morning.

When a servant died in Winterfell, he or she was dressed in their finest and given a reverent burial.

But with Praed, Yoren relieved his corpse of all his valuables. His boots, helm, mail shirt, and dagger were all parceled out amongst the others.

"How can you steal from the dead?" Sansa asked.

"I've never seen no corpse swing a sword," Yoren spat. "And can't say I'd want to." He offered Praed's longsword to the Bull. "Arms like yours, might be you can learn to use this."

The black brother was right in that. The Bull was quite tall with corded muscular arms and a broad chest. He looked more fearsome than many of the men-at-arms in Winterfell. He was the one Yoren said would be trouble, but so far he had done nothing troublesome at all.

Jeyne still whispered about how handsome he was, and Sansa had to agree. Though a common bastard, he was one of the handsomest boys she had ever seen in her life. And there was something familiar about his sullen blue eyes, that thick black hair, and even in the shape of his jaw. But she couldn't recall ever seeing him before.

As they threw dirt upon Praed's body, Tarber dropped some acorns in the hole with him.

"Now an oak will grow here to mark the grave," he said, brushing his brown hair off his forehead.

Jeyne smiled, her lips red from the sour leaf. "That's kind."

"My ma used to plant flowers over the babe's she lost," Tarber explained. "But that was before we was run off our land and had to come to King's Landing."

Sansa wondered what had become of his parents, but stopped herself from asking. She didn't want to hear any more about death. She had seen so much of it and feared she would see even more. Jeyne had complained of sharp pains in the sides of her tummy for the last two days. Sansa worried she might be very sick. If her friend died, Sansa would be friendless amongst criminals and commoners, any one of whom would willingly betray her.

The thought of that freighted her more than she could say.

They rode all day like always and stopped that evening at a village inn. While they would sleep outside, as always, Yoren had enough coin to buy them all a hot meal. The inn also provided the recruits an opportunity for a wash in the bathhouse. But that did Sansa and Jeyne no good.

Sansa watched enviously as most of the men and boys lined up for the bathhouse. She had never gone so long without a bath in all her life. At home, she often sampled her mother's scents of verbena or snowdrops. In the Red Keep, she possessed her own scents, some with a hint of lemon. But not here. Now the only smell she carried was the odor of sour stink. The girls hadn't removed their clothing or unfastened their chest bindings since leaving King's Landing. They each possessed an additional tunic and pair of breeches, but they dared not bathe and there was no point in taking the risk of slipping into fresh clothing when their bodies were still dirty.

The girls filed into the inn after the others who were choosing to forgo a bath.

A comfortable fire heated the common room. Slipping into a seat near the fireplace, Sansa realized what a luxury it had become to sit in a chair at a table instead of eating her meals sitting cross-legged on the ground. Sansa rested gratefully against the chair and heard her back crack.

Using proper eating utensils and taking dainty bites of her pork pie and backed apple, she felt almost herself again. She even sipped the beer the innkeep offered them free of charge. The first taste was foul, but it reminded her of those nights in Winterfell when her lord father allowed them a cup of beer with supper.

"You eat like a proper little lord," Lommy Greenhands said with a sneer. "Cutting it up all neat and fine, like some dandy."

"Thank you," Sansa said airily.

Yoren scowled at her. Frowning at the silent reprimand, Sansa tried to dine with less finesse.

Jeyne scarcely ate at all. "My tummy hurts," she whispered. "It feels like a dagger's cutting through me on both sides."

"Had a sister who used to describe her pains like that," Cutjack said. He wiped his hands on his leather stonemason's apron and took another mouthful of pie.

"Did she die from it?" Jeyne asked.

"She died," he said. "But not from that."

"You'll feel better if you eat some pie," Sansa said. "You're just sick from eating so much of that awful sausage, that's all."

But that didn't soothe her friend. Soon Jeyne stepped out of the inn on the hope that some fresh air would help to settle her stomach.

With her gone, Sansa started paying attention to the conversation of the others around her. Many in the common room were appalled to learn that Yoren and their party were traveling north. Everyone else it seemed was fleeing south just like those they encountered on the road.

"You'll be back soon enough," the innkeep said. "There's no going north. Half the fields are burnt, and what folks are left are walled up inside their holdfasts. One bunch rides off at dawn and another one shows up by dusk."

"That's nothing to us," Yoren said with a set in his jaw. "Tully or Lannister, makes no matter. The Watch takes no part."

But the innkeep insisted they weren't the only ones to worry about. Savages from the Mountains of the Moon had spilled into the Riverlands, joining the fray. They weren't like to care whether custom dictated that the Night's Watch took no part.

"And the Starks are in it too," he said. "The young lord's come down, the dead Hand's son. He's got an army of northmen at his back."

Sansa's heart clenched. She sucked in a breath to steady herself. _Robb! Robb is coming_.

But Robb was no warrior. She recalled her brother wielding a wooden practice sword in the yard. Now he led an army against their enemies. The way the patrons of this inn spoke of her brother, Sansa almost wondered if they had confused him with a hero from a song.

One man spoke of her brother riding into battle on a giant wolf as big as a horse. A few others claimed that all the northmen rode wolves or became wolves when going to war. Most of the others didn't believe them, though.

Talk soon turned to a large pack of wolves terrorizing the countryside. They were bold, killing whatever they liked. Dogs, sheep, cows, and even men, it made no matter.

"The one that leads them is a she-wolf, a bitch from the seventh hell," an old woman said.

The stories of this she-wolf grew wilder and more outlandish as more people joined in with what they had heard or what some traveler had said while passing through of a night.

Sansa couldn't but wonder if this she-wolf was Arya's. Nymeria had run away near the Trident. If she hadn't, she would have died instead of Lady.

Thoughts of that made her miserable and furious all over again. Lady had been good and gentle. It was Arya and Nymeria who had caused all the trouble. Lady shouldn't have been the one to pay for it. They should have been punished. Them and Joffrey. Sansa remembered how he had smiled when his mother insisted her direwolf be put to death…the same smile he wore while calling for her father's head.

_I should have known then_, she thought.

"What are you crying about, Stinky Sam?" Lommy asked. "Scared of the wolf-bitch?"

Sansa quickly swatted at her face with her sleeves. "Leave me be."

She rose and tried to quit the inn with as much dignity as she could. But when Sansa opened the door, a cry escaped her lips.

"Is it the she-wolf?" someone asked, raising a laugh from the room.

Fear seized Sansa by the throat and she couldn't speak. She could scarcely shut the door again and scurry to Yoren.

"The City Watch is here," she whispered hoarsely.

Six of them had ridden up to the inn in their black ringmail and the golden cloaks. They had found her. Somehow they knew and now they would kill her too. Or take her back to Joffrey and Ser Ilyn.

Cursing, Yoren stood and made for the door.

"I don't want no trouble with the crown," the innkeep called after him. The black brother paid him no mind.

The other patrons of the inn rushed to the windows and door to watch the scene unfold. After a moment's hesitation, Sansa joined Lommy by the window.

_They won't recognize me,_ she told herself. _Sansa Stark of Winterfell had beautiful long hair and wore fine silks. I'm only Sam now. Only Stinky Sam._

The gold cloaks had all dismounted and the officer, the one with the black enamel breast plate, held out a warrant ribbon with golden wax stamped upon it. Yoren didn't appear very impressed with it. Inside, they could only hear scraps of what was being said, but they looked to be arguing. The officer gestured beyond the black brother.

"He's pointing at the Bull," Lommy said. "It's him they're wanting. He must be worse than them three in the chains for the gold cloaks to come all this way for him."

Sansa realized the green-handed boy must be right. Relief washed through her. This must be why Yoren though the Bull would be trouble.

"Yoren should let the City Watch have him," she said.

The men turned their gazes upon her. She could feel herself shrinking to the side.

"W-well, he _is_ a cri- I mean-"

"Criminal?"Gerren smiled and the others laughed. "The boy couldn't be worse'n the rest o' us."

"No," Qyle said, his blond hair still damp from the bathhouse. "Not unless there's a crime worse'n murder, thieving, poaching, rape…"

Whatever else he meant to list was drowned out by the laughter in the room.

But soon their attention was drawn back to the windows. The recruits outside were taking up arms. Tarber had a pitchfork in both hands, poised, while the Bull held his longsword. Kurz took up his knife while Koss strung his longbow. Hot Pie was on the ground collecting rocks. Even Dobber, who was naked as his nameday after coming out of the bathhouse had his dagger at the ready.

Sansa turned away at the sight of him. She could feel the blood rushing to her cheeks. The only naked boys she had seen before setting out with the Watch were her brothers. Now Sansa found herself muffling gasps whenever a man decided to pull out his cock and do his business against a tree. She couldn't grow accustomed to the sight nor temper her embarrassment.

Her face burned so fiercely at that moment, she couldn't return to the window to watch how the scene played out. But soon enough, a cheer rose up from the bystanders as the window.

"We won?" Sansa asked.

None of them responded. They were too busy hooting and laughing.

"You see that?" Qyle shouted, slapping Gerren on the back.

"This ain't like in King's Landing, no ser!"

Not long after, Yoren charged through the door of the inn. "Out! Everyone o you with the Watch, out! We need to be moving. We'll be riding all night to keep ahead o' them gold cloaks."

The men snatched up the last bits of food and chugged their last gulps of beer before rushing out. Sansa also grabbed the rest of her and Jeyne's meal, wrapping the slices of pie and the apples in a cloth and slipping them in her pack. Just before leaving, she noticed the knives they used to cut into their pies. She packed those away too.

"Why do they want the Bull?" Sansa asked after Yoren paid the innkeep for their meal.

"Never you mind 'bout that," he said. "You'll be riding one o' them coursers. That ways if the gold cloaks catch up with us, you and Gendry can make tracks."

"Gendry?"

"The Bull."

"But what of Jey-"

"_Joe_!" Yoren snarled as they made for the wagons. "That who you mean, _boy_? Well, there's only two coursers. The rest o' the horses are pulling wagons. Joe will keep to his donkey, same as ever."

"But that's not fair!" If the City Watch returned with more men, she would be all alone without her dearest friend with only the Bull as a traveling companion. That would be the height of impropriety and she had no notion of what he might do to her if they ever ended up alone. "J-Joe is more important than the Bull. He's my friend. He should have the other courser and the Bull should be given over to the City Watch. We would all be ever so much safer if you gave them what they wanted."

"Might be we'd all be 'ever so much safer' if we gave both o' you over to them."

"But you can't!" she wailed. "I'm a high-"

Yoren's hand came down so hard against her ear, Sansa nearly fell over. She couldn't even scream. The sound she made was a thick groan.

"Stop that talking back, you hear me, _boy_?"

Sansa nodded quickly, holding the side of her face.

"Now go find Joe and bring him back quick as you can."

She hurried to obey, hoping he wouldn't hit her again.

In the stories, heroes didn't hit the ladies they rescued or put the needs of bastards ahead of theirs. Though Yoren had saved them and vowed to bring them home, he otherwise did not fit the role of the proper hero in the slightest. If only a true knight had saved them instead of a black brother.

Sansa found Jeyne on the other side of the Kingsroad outside the village. She sat partially submerged in the stream with her legs folded against her chest and her face buried in her arms.

"What's the matter?" Sansa asked once she stood at the edge of the stream. "Were you frightened by the gold cloaks? They're gone now, but we have to hurry before they came back."

Jeyne didn't so much as glance up. The only movement she made was to shudder with quiet sobs.

"Jeyne? _Jeyne_?" Sansa stepped into the stream and knelt to brush her friend's short brown hair. "Jeyne, we have to go now. Get up."

"I-I can't," Jeyne finally managed to say. "They'll see. They'll see…"

"See what? What is it?"

"The b-blood. They'll know."

"Blood?" Had the City Watch found her before coming to the inn? Had they tried to kill her like they did with the others? But Sansa looked her over and saw no wounds or blood upon her body.

Then she saw it. A thin but steady sliver of crimson streamed from where Jeyne sat, marring the clear waters.

_No, no, no, no, no, no! Not now! Not here!_

Sansa found herself crying again, not from the pain in her throbbing ear, but from the terror that seized her. Jeyne was a woman now. And if anyone saw this, they were both lost.


	6. Chapter 6

**Chapter Six**

_"A woman's life is nine parts mess to one part magic, you'll learn that soon enough."_ – ACOK

* * *

Before Sansa set out from Winterfell, the Lady Catelyn had spoken to her of an immensely important rite of passage she would soon go through that would seal her place into womanhood.

"Would that I could be there to help you when your time comes," Mother had said one night while brushing Sansa's hair. "But Septa Mordane will see you through. There will be blood, but you needn't be frightened. That's merely a sign that you are fit to be wedded and bedded, and to someday bear your lord husband's children."

That was before Father's execution, before their journey to King's Landing, and even before Bran's fall. That was when the world seemed capable of beauty and gentleness.

Lady Catelyn had called it a flowering. What Jeyne went through was anything but flowery and no one was on hand with any knowledge of what to do.

Her first notion had been to go to Yoren. But the thought of telling him, of saying the words aloud to a man, sent her tummy into knots. When she finally gathered up the courage to do it, the black brother's response calmed her some, but only on account of how horrified he was.

Yoren was so rough and tough, he seemed to be made of harsher materials than flesh and bone. Yet when Sansa whispered to him that Joe had flowered, he blushed more fiercely than a maiden. All his steely strength drained away.

When his only response was to stammer and curse the gods, Sansa decided he had no more answers than she did. Fewer, more like. It would be up to her to sort this through. She tried to recall anything her lady mother or Septa Mordane had told her that may guide her now.

"We'll need cloths to…" she trailed off.

"Aye." He nodded.

"The bolts of cloth in the wagons, mightn't we use folded strips of it?"

He nodded again.

"And I don't think he ought to ride in case his…it comes through his…"

Yoren spat and cursed. "I'll make room in one o' the wagons for her- him."

As she struggled to cut pieces of cloth with one of the knives she took from the inn, Sansa kept telling Jeyne everything would be fine. This was nothing to be frightened of. She was a woman now and that was wonderful. All the things her mother had said.

"S-Septa M-Mordane said it would b-be beautiful," Jeyne hiccuped a sob. "And magical. It isn't. Not at all."

_They lied to us,_ Sansa thought. _They lied._

"It will get better," she said.

In the dying sunlight, Sansa watched Jeyne's shaky hands finish lacing the fresh pair of breeches they took from her pack. She had rolled up the soiled pair and stuffed it in her pack in case they ran out of cloths.

"Everything will be fine," Sansa said again. "This will only be for a few days. By the next moon's turn we'll be home and Mother will help you."

"But if the other recruits find out they'll- they'll- they'll-" Jeyne cried even harder.

"They won't," Sansa said with more confidence than she had. "They won't find out. They won't. You'll see. We'll be careful. And you get to ride in a wagon. Won't that be fine?"

As they traveled through the night, Sansa envied Jeyne her place in the wagon. Her friend was able to lay back and sleep, waking every so often to complain of the jostling or of an ache. By the time the sun began to rise, that wagon looked more grand to Sansa than even Queen Cersei's wheelhouse. She was so sleepy, she could curl up comfortably atop the barrel of barely.

That morning they stopped only briefly to feed their mounts and eat. Sansa and Jeyne took the opportunity to steal into the woods to change her cloths. But as soon as they returned to the column, they were moving again.

Their party had left the Kingsroad behind. They couldn't risk encountering the gold cloaks again or meeting anyone who could tell the City Watch where they had gone. The recruits made their way north through back roads over rough, winding terrain, at a crawling pace. Several times a day, they stopped because a wagon got stuck or because they encountered another party whose load was as wide as their, making it impossible for either to pass.

At the pace they were going, Sansa doubted they would make it to Winterfell in a year's time, let alone by the next moon's turn.

As they went, Jeyne kept complaining of every bump in the road and of the way her legs cramped and needed to move and of nearly everything she could think of. Sansa's hands squeezed her reins, as she thought that her friend could do with a good slap. She told herself that was unkind.

Once Jeyne dozed again, she rode back down the column to create some distance between them.

Sansa passed the wagon with the three chained criminals, ignoring the hissing of the hideous one without a nose, and continued beyond the wagon with the various metals. She would have gone further but she noticed the Bull riding his courser just behind it and decided to rein up alongside him.

She smiled at him and he nodded. Sansa tried to think of something to say to begin a conversation. The other recruits were much easier to talk with. Qyle was always laughing and making jokes. Gerren was much the same, though a bit rougher and more eager to complain of their future. And old Reysen with his wooden staff seemed so grandfatherly and talkative to Sansa. But the Bull, this Gendry, was so sullen and quiet. She made an effort with him anyway.

"Your bull's head helm is very fine," she said. "Did you make it yourself?"

He nodded. "I did."

When he didn't seem inclined to add more, Sansa looked about them for another topic.

She had never been an avid horsewoman. That was one of the few lessons Arya bested her in. That, managing a household, and sums. But compared with these city boys, she was quite an expert. Even after riding since King's Landing they looked uneasy in the saddle.

"You sit a horse well," she lied. "Did you ride often in the city?"

The Bull looked at her like she had lost her wits. "I never had no horse. I was just an armorer's 'prentice. Nobody rides in the city except them highborns who ride you down if you don't move out of the way quick enough."

Sansa didn't know what to say to that. "Well, you – you ride very well."

"What would a gutter rat know about riding or doing it well?"

"I-I just thought you- I'm only meant to be kind."

"Do you?" he asked. "I thought you was only talking to me cause you wanted something."

It was true. Sansa wanted something. He needn't be so impolite as to say so. She merely wanted to ask him why the queen wanted his head. But she wanted to build into the inquiry after talking with him for a time.

If Arya were here, she would have asked as soon as the question entered her mind. Her little sister didn't have any delicacy. But delicacy didn't seem to work well with Gendry. Perhaps bluntness would serve her better.

"What did you do to make the queen send the City Watch after you?" she asked.

Gendry scowled at her. "I'll tell you like I told Hot Pie and Lommy. I didn't do nothing to no queen. I did my work, same as the other 'prentices. Maybe better. I was supposed to be an armorer one day. Then I got sent away with Yoren and some queen wants me and no one can tell me why."

Sansa felt a surge of sympathy for him. That bearded man who came to Yoren before they were to set off must have known Queen Cersei wanted the Bull and sent him away with the Watch to protect him. But why? An armorer was of no importance to anyone. Unless he was secretly someone important.

As they rode, she examined his sullen face and reached through her mind for who he reminded her of. In the songs and stories there were often lords, knights or even princes who were forced to live amongst the commons as one of them before a great reveal of their true identity. Even Aegon the Unlikely had been such a one.

"What're you looking at me like that for?" he asked.

Sansa quickly turned her gaze forward, feeling her cheeks pinkening. "Pardon. I … I was only… You look very familiar. Who were your mother and father?"

It wasn't very courteous to intrude so, but courtesy didn't seem to play a part in this world.

The Bull didn't say anything for so long Sansa thought he might ignore her.

"Folks keep asking after my mother," he said at last. "Then they die."

Sansa jolted. "I…I…"

"First the old Hand," he went on. "Arryn, it was. Then the wolf lord came round asking and then he got nicked just before I was told I had to join the Watch. Now _you're_ asking."

She gaped at him. "My-my- Lord Eddard Stark asked you of your mother? You must be terribly important."

Gendry hooted. An incredulous grin replaced his sullen expression, brightening his startling blue eyes. Sansa watched him laugh at her and knew instantly who he was.

"I'm an armorer's 'prentice," he repeated. "Least I was. I'm not important to nobody."

But he might be. Sansa longed to tell Jeyne what she suspected. She angled her neck to look ahead and see if her friend still slept.

Sansa frowned. Jeyne was awake, but one of the recruits, Cutjack, walked beside her wagon talking to her.

"What's he doing with Joe?" she wondered aloud. She couldn't hear what they were saying, but she didn't like it.

Sansa urged her courser forward with a kick of her heels and trotted up alongside them. Cutjack glanced back when she came upon them, but the plump man only continued talking. He was telling a story.

"The woman did it for honor, so the story says," he told Jeyne. "Serve the realm. Help protect Westeros from gnats and grumpkins and that rot. They say she was a fine ranger. Killed many Wildlings and always kept to her vows. But that made no matter. When them so called 'brothers' o' hers found out she were a she, they saw to it she never forgot what she was again."

Jeyne's frightened brown eyes flinted back and forth between Sansa and Cutjack. "Wha- What did they do?"

Her tone reminded Sansa of those evenings sitting around Old Nan with her siblings and the other children of Winterfell. The fear, the curiosity, the dread and eagerness to hear more. Old Nan had told them this story too. It was a sad and beautiful song that bards often sang in the North – the story of young Danny Flint. But the current situation made it all the more terrifying.

"Her brothers decided that if she didn't want to be no woman, they'd make a whore of her instead," Cutjack said. "So they fucked her."

"We already know this story," Sansa said. "We've heard the song a few times before. Do you know any other stories?"

"The singers don't tell how all o' them brothers o' hers who trained and ate and laughed and suffered alongside her all took a turn with her," he continued. "They fucked her any way they could. Her cunt, her mouth, her ass. Sometimes more'n one at-"

"Stop it!" Sansa wailed. "Stop it! We don't want to hear any more."

Cutjack glanced back at her, amused. "Thought _Joe_ ought to hear the story. We'll be brothers all too soon."

A cold dread sank through Sansa. _He knows. He knows. He knows._

"Leave off," a voice sounded beside her.

Sansa glanced over. It was the Bull. He had followed her. The scowl he donned was made all the fiercer by the black stubble growing along the skin above his jaw.

"Who's going to make me?" Cutjack scowled too.

"If you don't leave them be, I'll knock your teeth in," Gendry said, evenly.

His tone was calm and low. This was no boyish threat, Sansa realized.

Cutjack stared back at him a moment and she thought he might challenge him. The recruit carried a stonemason's hammer in the leather apron he always wore. He might mean to match it against Gendry's new longsword. But in the end, he strode away to walk elsewhere along the column.

No relief greeted his departure.

_He knows!_ Sansa's mind shrieked. _He knows, he knows, he knows…_

She wanted to thank the Bull – Gendry. It was only courteous. He had done them a great service. But all she could think of were Yoren's words of warning.

_They'll all betray us for a pardon and some will force us to lay with them,_ she thought.

But Cutjack didn't need a pardon. He had chosen to join the Watch. He would rape them though. Why else would he tell that awful story?

Only then did Sansa realize she was practically panting in fear. Her shame at that nearly rivaled her terror. Sansa drew in hearty breathes and blew them out slowly until her hands stopped their shaking and her heart eased its hammering.

"My thanks, Gendry," she said at last.

"Why'd you two go joining the Night's Watch for if you already knew the story of that other girl?"

Sansa's heart plummeted into her tummy. Did they all suspect?

Jeyne's eyes grew wide. "You _know_?"

"Oh, shut up!" Sansa cried.

"I wonder at everyone not knowing after seeing you slap Hot Pie about," Gendry said.

"The-there is nothing to know," Sansa said. She desperately searched her mind for what to do, but only Yoren's lie presented itself. "We're just orphans, that's all. You're the one with the secret, not us. That's why the queen is after you."

Gendry just looked at her like he knew she was lying. "Might be that true. Least you know what your secret is."

When Sansa told Yoren of what happened, the old man cursed.

"There's no sense in me talking with him," Yoren said. "That'd only let him know he was right. Just don't be alone with him and do your damndest to be the _boy_ you _are_."

Staying away from Cutjack wasn't difficult since they kept near Yoren or the black brother took Cutjack along when he scouted ahead or kept watch.

Jeyne was soon able to ride her donkey again without fear of someone seeing her bleed through her breeches. But as they trudged on at a crawling pace, Sansa fretted over what they would do next time. With the other recruits already suspicious, surely they would notice that one of the orphans grew ill for a few days during each moon's turn. Sansa harbored no hope that they would return to Winterfell before Jeyne's moon blood returned. Before long, her own courses would begin.

Each time she saw Cutjack talking and japing with Qyle or Kurz or any of the other recruits, she was certain he was spreading their secret. Every time she caught him glancing at her she was certain he was planning something dreadful.

Those fears made her concentrate all the harder on trying to emulate the other boys. The trouble with that was none of them behaved the same.

Gendry was little like any of the Baratheon's she had met. He kept to himself mostly unless to say something blunt and to the point. Lommy was always talking, mostly to complain or make jokes at the expense of others. Hot Pie often waffled between nervousness and arrogance. He and Lommy both loved to gossip and would even trade stories with Sansa and Jeyne if they were feeling cheerful enough. Tarber seemed open and friendly, often riding beside them. The older men were even more unique.

How was she supposed to be a proper boy when all of the ones around her behaved so differently?


	7. Chapter 7

**Chapter Seven**

_If only dreaming could make it so…_ – ASOS

* * *

In the weeks before setting out, Yoren had packed a few of the wagons full of salted fish, wheels of cheese, hard bread, turnips, sausages, and sacks of beans and barely. But now, every bite of the disagreeable fare had been eaten. Their party must need live off the land as they went.

Yoren sent their two poaches, Koss and Kurz, out ahead of them to hunt. The poachers often returned by nightfall with a deer or a brace of rabbits to feed them.

The orphans were set to picking what berries, fruit, and vegetables they could find in the bushes and fields.

While picking and gathering, Sansa came to the upsetting realization that her hands were not so soft and delicate as they once were. She examined them one day while pulling out some painful splinters she got while pulling herself over an orchard fence. She pursed her lips and ran a calloused hand over her smooth cheek.

Weeks and weeks of riding without gloves and a dozen other menial tasks had coarsened her.

_I have the hands of a commoner,_ she thought. _Or a boy. _

Her brothers and father all possessed strong, leathery hands. Them and Arya too. She remembered Septa Mordane lamenting over her younger sister for having the hands of a blacksmith.

_What would she say of me? I'm no more a lady than Arya now. When I reach Winterfell, Mother won't know me. _

Thinking of that made her sad, so she chose to push it from her mind just like everything else that gnawed at the swelling emptiness within her.

Climbing fences soon became simple, fluid motions. Hoisting around sacks filled with apples or corn steadily grew less strenuous. She and the other boys could even gossip and tell stories amongst themselves while they picked to pass the time. Once Sansa became used to it, she decided it was ever so much better than riding for hours and hours.

But that all stopped the day some field hands surrounded them, weapons in hand, and demanded payment for the ears of corn they had taken.

Lord Eddard readily assisted men of the Night's Watch. This lot was far from genteel, but they were dedicating their lives to the realm.

"We're recruits of the Night's Watch," Sansa tried to explain, hoping they would share Father's views on the matter.

"I don't think they care, Sam," Gendry said.

Scowling, he rested a hand on the longsword at his hip. Hot Pie had a sword too which had been taken from one of the gold cloaks who cornered them. Sansa doubted they knew how to use them though. She didn't even bother reaching for the knife she kept in the pocket of her cloak.

"We've lost enough good food and cattle t' thieving," one of the field hands said. "We won't be giving more away to a lot o' murderers and rapers. Now pay for what you took!"

Tarber went to fetch Yoren who threw them a few coppers and spat.

"Time was, a man in black was feasted from Dorne to Winterfell, and even high lords called it an honor to shelter him under their roofs," he said. "Now cravens like you want hard coin for a bite of wormy apple."

"It's sweet corn, better'n a stinking old black bird like you deserves," a man with a scythe said. "You get out of our field now, and take these sneaks and stabbers with you, or we'll stake you up in the corn to scare the other crows away."

From then on, more fields were under guard. Men rode alone the fences with axes in their hands and chilly looks in their eyes.

_They hate us,_ Sansa thought as they passed an archer who loomed above his field aiming a notched bow at them.

"We didn't do anything to them," Sansa said to Yoren. "Why are they so ready to hurt us?"

"Somone's made these cravens desperate and now they're ready to kill not to let it happen again," he said.

Worry creased his face more and more often now.

They didn't risk foraging through the crops anymore, instead keeping to berry picking and collecting acorn for the nasty paste Kurz taught them to make. That reaped far less bounty. There wasn't nearly enough food for anyone to go to bed with a full belly. Lengthy detours around camps of armed men only threatened to worsen their plight as they were driven miles out of their way, costing them more and more days.

One evening as the party of recruits made camp, they noticed a red glow brightening the northern skyline. It could have been a vibrantly beautiful sunset if it weren't coming from the wrong direction.

"Fire," Yoren said. After licking a thumb, he held it up to taste the air. "Wind should blow it away from us. Still bears watching."

Sansa could scarcely sleep with the crimson glow blaring against the horizon ahead. Whenever she dozed, she dreamed flames were forever blocking her way home no matter how many times she tried to find a way around the blaze. But upon the morrow, the fire was all burned out and everyone groggily went about the morning routine.

They reached the charred village at midday. It was a horror out of Old Nan's stories. Corpses of animals and men lay strewn everywhere, blacked crisp, just like the fields and houses. Atop the remains of the stone holdfast, more burnt bodies adored the wall, impaled upon spikes.

Sansa heard Jeyne muffle a cry. Sansa didn't make a sound. She stared silently at the scene before them examining every detail.

The corpses upon the wall were twisted as though frozen in motion, their legs curved in the throes of agony. Their hands clung to their faces as shields from the flames that consumed them. Cawing crows feasted upon the carcasses of animals and men alike, making no distinction between them.

Sansa wondered which of her grandfather's bannermen once held this holdfast.

"You lot guard the wagons," Yoren told the recruits. "Wait till we get back. Don't none o' you go running off."

With a cacophony of flapping wings and shrieking caws, the crows rose into the air to make way for Yoren, Murch, and Cutjack as they made their way to the holdfast on foot. Sansa watched Cutjack as the trio climbed through the broken gate. The recruit hadn't paid the girls any mind since that day he told them of Danny Flint. They still made certain to keep their distance from him though.

_Would that a stone ceiling would come crushing down on him,_ she thought. _But only after Yoren and Murch return, _she amended.

Sansa didn't know how well their small group could protect the wagons should any armed force come upon them. Though some of them had swords and daggers, they had very little armor. The shiny bull helm Gendry donned was the finest. This was the first time she had seen him wear it. The expertly shaped metal looked as fine as any that adorned knights in the lists. But he had no plate or mail or even boiled leather to protect the rest of him.

"We ought to have stayed in King's Landing," Jeyne said after Yoren had been gone for some time.

"Don't know what's better," Tarber said. "In the capital, most like we'd pro'ly of starved or got stabbed for what we had, or worse."

"Out here, we'll starve soon," Gendry said, his voice a hollow echo from within his helm. "If we don't starve, whoever did for this lot might do for us if we run into them."

"Aye," Gerren said. "We're near starving as it is. And for what? To reach some Wall?"

_Is there nowhere to be safe?_ Sansa thought.

"We aren't in any danger." She smiled at them bravely. "We're Night's Watch recruits. We take no part in the troubles of the realm. No one has any need to-" _…burn us alive and mount our bodies on spikes for the crows… _"-to bother with us."

"Our horses and what's left of our supplies are good enough reasons," Gendry said.

Sansa frowned at that bull's headed helm. _Why must this bastard boy make certain everyone is afraid? _He looked the very image of Lord Renly, but he didn't have any of his easy charm.

Qyle gave Gendry a playful shove in the arm. "Don't go making worry where there is none. Sam's got the right of it."

The blond man gave Sansa a wink and she smiled in turn. Qyle always seemed gentler than the other recruits. His round, ruddy face was nearly always grinning and laughing. Often when Sansa and Jeyne claimed to be going for kindling in the woods, he would offer to come along and help. They refused, of course, so they might do their business in private. But it was kind of him just the same.

Soon Yoren emerged from the holdfast carrying a little girl of about two, who made pitiful hissing cries. The sound made Sansa's tummy curdle. But the true horror, the one that sent an icy chill seeping through Sansa's bones, was the woman Cutjack and Murch carried upon a sling between them. Her right arm had been sliced in half at the elbow, leaving only a bloody stub.

"Please," the woman whispered as they carried her past the orphans. "Please. Please. Please."

The orphans shuffled closer together at their approach. Sansa looked to Jeyne, only to find her frightened friend clutching Tarber's arm. The brown haired boy kept his terrified eyes on the woman even as his hand covered hers. Sansa frowned.

"Lommy, Tarber, take them empty barrels out of the front wagon," Yoren said. "Just leave them at the side o' the road. And be quick about it. Come dark, there'll be wolves here, and worse."

They laid a couple of spare blankets in the empty space and rested her there. The little crying girl was put in Jeyne's care. She had to resume her place in the cloth wagon so she could watch the babe while the little girl rested.

Even as they continued down the rustic road, the woman continued her chanting.

"Please. Please. Please. Please."

It seemed it was the only word left to her after what happened.

"I'm scared," Hot Pie said.

He rode his donkey in front of the wagons alongside Sansa. She wished to ride as far from the one-armed woman and the crying girl as she could without passing Yoren and it seemed the pie boy had the same thought. But that desperate pleading followed them on and on.

"I'm scared too," Sansa said.

Hot Pie reached up to clasp her arm. "I never really kicked no boy to death, Sam. I just sold my mommy's pies, is all."

Sansa's first instinct was to shy away from his touch. She didn't want his dirty, grubby hands on her, particularly when he had been so cruel to her. But then, she remembered that Stinky Sam was dirty and grubby too. And she and Hot Pie shared the same fears.

Sansa squeezed his hand. "We'll all be safe soon. You'll see."

She continued talking to him asking him questions about being a baker's boy to distract from the crying and pleading. Sansa discovered that Hot Pie once pushed a cart stacked with his mother's goods through the streets and shouted, "Hot pies! Hot pies!" Only then his mother died and he found himself thrust into the streets to fend for himself.

This tale did little to improve Sansa's spirits. But then he mentioned how much he missed singing with his mother while they baked together.

"We could sing now," Sansa said. That would make the one-armed woman's cries more difficult to hear.

The boy's face smoothed, discarding the fear and anger that had defined his features since she met him.

"I know a song about a bear and one about the Seven," he said.

"The Bear and the Maiden Fair?"

"That's the one. It goes like this. _A bear there was, a bear, a bear! All black and brown, and covered with hair…_"

Sansa was so taken aback by his voice that she nearly forgot to join in. He had a fine, pure sound that harmonized well with her own.

Yoren glanced back at them, and Sansa was certain he would yell at them to stop. But he merely eyed them both and turned his gaze ahead once more.

As the afternoon wore on, the pair of them sang and sang. Lommy tried to jape at their expense, laughing in that braying way he did. But that only prompted them to sing all the louder. As the sun cast rays of gold through the trees, the ball of dread that had found a permanent place around Sansa's heart began to loosen. Immersing herself in her songs made her feel as though nothing could trouble her. Even Hot Pie seemed to feel the same as he bounced in his saddle to the rhymes.

That came to a halt when their party stopped for the night. Yoren ordered them to cease their singing and get to work setting up camp.

"Those fine voices o' yours will be changing soon," Cutjack said as he strode over to tether one of the wagon horses beside her courser.

_Don't be frightened,_ she told herself. _He can't hurt you. Not in front of Yoren and all the others._

"I know," Hot Pie said. "Heard it happen to a couple of other boys on the Street of Flour. They went about croaking for weeks."

Cutjack laughed. "The two o' you'd make good coin as singers if you weren't pledging your lives to the Wall."

Sansa watched him walk away and tried to decide if there was anything threatening in what he just said. Deciding there wasn't, she went to find Jeyne. She found her still in the back of the wagon with the crying girl. The child still wept with hitched breathes and Jeyne glared at her with sullen brown eyes.

"You left me," she said, rocking the girl against her chest.

"I couldn't stand to hear them," Sansa said. "They scared me. At least, the woman's quieted. Is she feeling better?"

Jeyne glared at her. "She's dead."

That gave Sansa a jolt. "Oh."

For a moment, the only sound between them was the little girl's wretched sobs.

_I should feel something,_ Sansa thought. _I should weep and sob._

The only thing she felt was grateful that she hadn't been near to watch yet another person lose their life.

_It would be different if I knew her, if it were Jeyne or Yoren,_ she thought. _I don't even know her name. I never will now._

"I heard you singing," Jeyne said, with a sullen twist to her mouth. "If it weren't for Tarber, I would have been alone with- with _them_."

Sansa glanced over at the brown-haired boy. He spoke with Cutjack while the two of them made water against a tree. She hoped her friend hadn't fallen in love with him. Jeyne could be so silly about such things, but this would be worse than deciding she was in love with Robb or Beric Dondarrion. Tarber was as far beneath the steward's daughter as Sansa's brother and the lightning lord were above her.

"Sam! Joe!" Yoren called. "Get off your asses and get to work. I want that wagon off the road."

As they did as they were bid, Gendry and Cutjack dug a grave upon a hillside. This time, Tarber didn't toss any acorns into the hole. A willow already grew beside the spot, the oval leaves flowing in the breeze like green tear drops.

Sansa prayed that the Father judged her justly and the Mother had mercy upon the woman's soul. Then she prayed that the Father would make those who had murdered her and all the others face justice for the atrocities that had done.

"No fire tonight," Yoren said.

As they ate a sparse supper of wild radishes, dry beans, and water, howls could be heard a ways away. Sansa wondered if the wolves were feasting upon the seared remains they found in the village. Her tummy squeezed. The wolves would feast on men and beasts while she made due with a nearly empty tummy. She might have drunk more water just to fill herself up, but the water tasted funny.

"Tastes like the dead," Lommy said. "Bet there's some bodies rotting in the river upstream. And you lot are drinking what flowed through them."

He brayed like a donkey until Hot Pie charged at him. Reysen stopped them from fighting, but Sansa and Jeyne couldn't bear to take another sip.

By the time they turned in, the crying girl had stopped her crying. Sansa closed her eyes thinking of the wolves and wondering what it would be like to be a she-wolf for true. Would that Lady were still with her. The two of them could have been strong and brave together.

Sleep soon claimed her, but it wasn't Lady's soothing presence that filled her dreams. It was a fierce, massive pack of wolves. She towered above them, mightier than them all. And they followed her faithfully while she led them through forest and field. The smell of flame and cooked meat filled her nostrils. She sped her gait. Girl and wolf both were hungry. The scent led her through the forest, over a hill, and across the trail of land beaten down with man prints. The village beyond was a charred ruin. None living remained save the crows. She and her little cousins slipped through the ruins to partake in the ready meat.

Under a blackened layer, good meat still remained on many of the carcasses. She tore at the flesh with impossibly sharp teeth thinking, _If only this were Cutjack or those wicked gold cloaks or Joffrey._

_Yes, Joffrey._

Somehow, she felt her sister near, though she couldn't see her anywhere abouts. There were only her small cousins and the stubborn crows.

_Joffrey,_ she agreed, sinking her teeth into another mouthful.

Unbidden, an image flooded through her mind of the golden prince. The blades of the Iron Throne at his back, he smiled down at her… smiled the same way he did when they ordered Lady killed, the same way he had when he ordered her father beheaded.

Sansa awoke in darkness lit only by a pale moon. For a heart wrenching moment, she couldn't remember where she was. She had thought to awaken in her old bed chamber in Winterfell, the one she shared with Arya when they were small. But instead of the tiny shape of her sister, a field of snoring forms surrounded her. By now, the sounds were quite familiar. Hot Pie's sounded like a saw carving through a tree trunk. Lommy brayed gently. The prisoners in chains hissed and rattled. A steady scrapping signaled that Yoren was still awake amongst the wagons, sharpening his dirk against a whetstone.

As her eyes adjusted to the darkness, she could make out the shapes of those around her. These were the men who traveled with her, ate with her, the men who would betray and violate her should they ever discover her secret. Sansa lay back down and clasped her filthy cloak around herself. She wished she could be that she-wolf in her dream. She wished a might pack would run with her and prey would fear her deadly claw and bloody teeth. She wished she wasn't a helpless little orphan with nought but breeches and a table knife to protect her.

Sansa closed her eyes and prayed she would rejoin her pack.


	8. Chapter 8

**Chapter Eight**

_Sansa tried to step back, but he pulled her into his arms and suddenly he was kissing her. Feebly, she tried to squirm, but only succeeded in pressing herself more tightly against him._ – ASOS

* * *

As the sun rose, streaks of pink light flowed out between the trees like emissaries announcing the day. The rays danced along the river's surface creating a sparkling glow.

"It's like an enchantment," Sansa whispered. She stared in wonder at the sight, vaguely away of the birds chirping at her back. The beauty was almost enough to make her forget the emptiness in her tummy.

"Aye," Koss said. "If a graveyard can be called enchanting." Sansa glanced at him and the poacher pointed. "There in the reeds."

A bloated corpse buoyed in the shallows. Tiny silver fish ate his face. From atop her horse, Sansa examined the green cloak that tangled around the body's legs, trying to decipher which House he served. She could just make out the silver helm sew upon the fabric. A man serving House Broom. A Lannister man.

"I told you there was bodies," Lommy said. "I could taste them in that water."

Yoren spat. "Dobber, see if he's got anything worth the taking. Mail, knife, a bit o' coin, what have you."

The recruits pulled the corpse from the river and began sifting through is belongings while Yoren waded into the river on his gelding. Sansa looked out after him, longing to grasp hold of the beautiful view just a bit longer without thinking of the unpleasantness around her.

Dobber smacked her on the leg. "Stinky Sam. Get your ass down here and help."

With a smile to conceal her grimace, Sansa obeyed. She helped tug the leather boots from the corpse's swollen feet. Her hand brushed the frigid skin and she shuddered. After a pause, she continued. In the end it served very little. The boots were rotting and unsalvageable, as was the boiled leather armor. The only thing of note was a pouch Dobber found containing a few coppers and a hunk of blond hair secured with a crimson ribbon. He tossed the latter to the ground.

Sansa picked up the blond strands and wondered who they belonged to. The soldier's sweetheart, surely. The woman would have given it to him before he set off with promises to marry her upon his return. His love was likely watching for him every day and lighting a candle to the Mother, praying that she protect him. It was terribly romantic to think he died still carrying the token of his sweetheart's love. He likely died thinking of her…

…and then his corpse decayed in the river for the fish to eat and for the Night's Watch recruits to rob. Now he would rot in an unmarked grave far from home.

When she thought of it that way, the soldier's story wasn't so pretty anymore.

Sansa let the thatch of blond hair fall to the ground again.

Yoren returned to shore, the legs of his gelding coated in a layer of mud. "We won't be crossing here. Koss, you'll come with me up river, to look for a ford. Woth, Gerren, you go downstream. The rest o' you wait here. Put a guard out." He reined his steed about preparing to go, when he stopped of a sudden. "Cutjack, you come with us. In case we come upon some trouble."

With the black brother gone, the other recruits began to relax. Kurz strode into the water. Crouching very still for several moments at a time, he made quick grabs for the fish that swam around him. After several tries, he finally caught one.

"Now do that thirty more times and might be we'll all get fed," Gerren grumbled.

Tarber and Lommy Greenhands stripped down to their skin and ran into the water as well. The green-handed boy heaved fistfuls of mud at Hot Pie, and the two scuffled around in the shallows. The scene reminded her of her brothers at play in the godswood. She watched them shout and splash, and ached to join them. How nice it would be to submerge into the cool water without a stitch on her. She was nearly tempted to try it downstream, but decided against it.

Sansa turned her back on them and led her horse down the column toward Jeyne and the crying girl.

Along the way she passed the wagon where the prisoners were chained and had to ignore Rorge's shouting.

"Get back here and unchain me, you stinky shit!" he roared. "Get back here! You hear me! I'll fuck you bloody if you don't!"

_I can't hear him, I can't hear him, I can't hear him,_ Sansa chanted in her mind to drown out the shouts. _I can't hear him._

She found Qyle leaning against the side of Jeyne's wagon. The two of them were laughing. The sound made he smile. Sansa hadn't heard Jeyne laugh in so long.

"Hello there, Sam," he said at her approach. "I was telling Joe and the little'un of the Hand's tourney. Saw the smith free the Kingslayer from that golden armor of his meself."

Sansa listened politely as he retold the story and made certain to smile or laugh when appropriate. She had watched Sandor Clegane unhorse Ser Jaime and had seen him guided away to the smithy when it was discovered his helmet was far too dented for him to remove without a blacksmith's assistance. But she liked hearing of what happened after with all the trouble that went into freeing the gilded knight. Those tourney days were the most beautiful and magical of her life. Any talk of them brought a lightness to her heart.

Unfortunately, if the girls wanted a chance to do their business, they needed to go now.

"Lost near all I had bettin' on the Kingslayer," Qyle said. "But losing was near worth watching the great lion all helpless."

"I'm sure it was a fine sight." Sansa smiled at him politely. "Joe, we ought to forage for more food while Yoren's gone. There's like to be a good many berries and acorns here abouts."

"Ah, leave Joe be." Qyle waved his hand. "Lad said he was sick again. _I'll_ go with you."

"No!"Sansa said quickly. She paused and tried to smile for him again. "Joe needs to walk about some. It'd do him some good. We needn't trouble you. Right, Joe?"

Jeyne nodded, her short brown tresses falling into her eyes. "Y-yes, um, a walk will help with … the ache in my head."

Qyle smiled at them. "I'll leave the two o' you to it then. Just be careful. Those wolves last night sounded close."

"We will," Sansa assured him.

They had heard the wolves for a few nights, but somehow she couldn't dream about them like she did that night after finding the burnt village. Thoughts of that dream made her miss Lady and Arya terribly ... and long to be that strong and fearsome again.

Sansa watched him stride down the column of wagons toward the river shore where the other recruits sat about. Once she was certain he was well out of earshot, she turned back to Jeyne.

"You're sick? _Again_?"

It couldn't have been a full moon's turn since the last time. It just _couldn't_. They were supposed to be home by now. Home and safe.

"It isn't my fault." Jeyne looked down at the top of the crying girl's blond head. "I don't _want_ it to happen."

"I didn't blame you," Sansa said, trying to keep the resentment from her voice. "Let's cut some more pieces of cloth and bring them with us."

The girls trekked deep into the trees until they felt safe enough not to worry one of the men might stumble upon them by accident. They set the crying girl down along with their cloaks and knives at the base of a tree. Then they did their business. Jeyne wasn't bleeding yet, but she used the cloths just in case. They also took the opportunity to unwind and rewrap the cloths binding their breasts.

"It hurts," Jeyne complained as though they had never worn them before.

Sansa tightened her friend's binding cloth more firmly. "This won't be for much longer. Soon we'll be in Harrenhal. Yoren said we'll stop there once we get around the God's Eye. We can reveal ourselves to Lady Whent. Then she'll have a band of knights see us the rest of the way home."

Jeyne smiled thoughtfully. "Tarber will be so surprised when he finds out I'm not a boy."

Sansa frowned. "It shouldn't matter to him. We'll never see him again, not after we get to Harrenhal. He's for the Watch and we'll go home. Or maybe to Riverrun, if that's where Robb is."

Their news of the war and her brother's doings were so few and contradictory. Some said the Young Wolf was to march on Casterly Rock. Some said he would march upon King's Landing. Some even mentioned Harrenhal.

Sansa slipped out of her own tunic and Jeyne helped unwind her bindings. The tightened fabric was always bunching at the top and bottom, digging into her skin. She sighed in relief at being freed.

"Maybe Tarber could come too," Jeyne said. "He needn't spend his life on the Wall like those criminals. He's kind and funny. He isn't like them."

"The Wall needs kind men," Sansa said. "They can't have only criminals guarding the realm."

As they smoothed the filthy fabric and prepared to wind it around her again, Sansa considered whether or not to say more. She didn't want to be unkind and had no wish to upset Jeyne, but falling in love with a common orphan who would be very lucky to find a place as a shop boy was just silly. To say so would only make her friend angry, so she decided not to. She was just thankful Jeyne wasn't talking about marrying him yet.

"Do you think we might meet Lord Beric Dondarrion along the way home?" Sansa asked. Jeyne's love for the lightning lord was silly too but at least he posed no threat to her friend's virtue. The memory of the fine lord with his striking red hair and lightning splayed cloak would make Tarber seem the commoner he was. "All of the stories we're hearing make him sound ever so chivalrous and gallant."

Jeyne's brown eyes brightened. "Even in King's Landing, I knew he was frightful gallant and brave. I told you so, remember?"

"He is a true knight," Sansa agreed.

"He is. The Brotherhood are all so brave. Tarber and I spoke with the farmer and his daughters, who passed us yesterday. They told us the Mad Huntsman helped them. He's frightening and vicious against his enemies. He and his pack of hounds fight with Lord Beric's band against the Lannisters too."

With a sigh, Sansa decided not to say anything more. Glancing at the little crying girl who now only whimpered, she resolved to ride beside their wagon from now on lest her friend become too attached to the orphan boy. She was certain that's what Septa Mordane would do. That and lecture Jeyne on propriety.

As Jeyne helped her smooth the fabric around her frame to begin winding it again, Sansa noticed the little girl staring beyond them, her moist eyes fixed. She frowned, wondering what had caught her attention.

Then her heart stopped. She could feel it. The sickening sensation of eyes crawling over her.

_No,_ she told herself, even as she turned to follow the girl's gaze. _No one is there, no one is there, no one is there…_

Qyle leaned against a tree some yards away. His gaze slid over her body.

"What are doing here?" Sansa blurted. "Go away!"

He met her gaze, startled. Jeyne cried out beside her.

Putting his hands up and taking a few steps forward, he gave them a disarming smile. "It's alright, girl. What're you going on about? Nothing's wrong. Don't want to make a fuss, now d'you?"

_He's seen us!_ Sansa's mind shrieked. _ How long has he been there? __He's seen!_

She swallowed the lump forming in her throat.

"W-what do you want?" Sansa demanded, her voice shrill as a little girl's. She clutched the cloth close against her chest. _Half o' them would betray you. The other other'd do the same except they'd rape you first._ "What are you doing here?"

"It's alright," he repeated, taking another step toward them.

He still smiled in a way that would have put her at ease in any other circumstance. But he kept coming. A good man, a hero would have turned away as soon as he discovered them and vowed to keep their secret.

"Stop," Sansa said. She tried so desperately to make her voice strong and commanding like her lady mother's. "Don't come any closer."

"Go away or we'll scream!" Jeyne cried.

"Scream?" Qyle laughed, his pale blue eyes studying them incredulously. "Why would you go and do a thing like that? You want them thirty some recruits to come running and see the two o' you looking like this? That what you want?"

He must have seen the horror on their faces, for he continued his advance.

"No, we can't have that," Qyle said. "We'll keep it just the three o' us. That's right. We'll be _very_ quiet."


	9. Chapter 9

**Chapter Nine**

_A mad rage seized hold of her._ – ASOS

* * *

Sansa scrubbed and scrubbed and scrubbed her knife clean in the river. The lovely blue waters she admired earlier that morning grew murky. Coils of blood seeped through the gentle current. The river carried away the dried and crusted residue around her finger nails. Even when her hands were clean, she kept scrubbing, hating the thought of any part of him remaining upon her.

As Sansa cleaned herself on the bank, Jeyne and the crying girl cried.

_I should be crying too,_ Sansa thought. The throbbing in her temple should have been enough to elicit tears. _I should weep and sob and tell myself to be strong and stop being such a little girl._

But she wasn't a little girl. Not anymore. A little girl couldn't kill anyone and she had.

She looked over at her friend. Jeyne huddled at the foot of a tree with the babe crushed against her chest the way a child would comfort herself with a doll.

"Stop crying," Sansa said. "If your eyes are red when we return, the others will ask questions."

They wouldn't ask questions so much as tease her. Lommy in particular. Then Jeyne would cry all the harder. That would make the others suspicious. They would surely know it was their fault once they realized Qyle was missing.

Jeyne made an effort to quiet her sobs. "W-what w-will you do? Won't they a-ask after your h-head?"

Sansa's hand rose to her temple. The blood was drying and hardening where Qyle had struck to make her be still. Remembering summoned all the fear and helplessness of those moments. There had been nothing they could do. They couldn't scream. If either of them ran, he promised to tell the others what they were. Then all of their brothers would have…

"You'll say a root tripped you up," he had told her. "You hurt yourself."

Sansa crossed her arms over her chest, trying not to think of how his calloused hands had grasped at her breasts.

Jeyne saved me, she reminded herself. Not a handsome knight. Not even Yoren. But her dearest friend, who had been so frightened and so brave when she shoved the blade into his back.

The blade hadn't sunk into him enough to kill him, but it was enough to release his focus from Sansa. As he had reared up and turned, cursing lowly, Sansa's hands had searched about for something, anything. Her fingers had brushed against the jagged surface of a stone. The first time she swung the rock against Qyle's head, he was still alive afterward, though the force of the blow sent him rolling away from her. It was either the second or third blow that truly killed him. She brought the rock down upon his head with all the strength she had. She couldn't allow him to live knowing what he knew, knowing he meant to hurt her, ruin her. There was no gallant knight or hero or father coming for her. If she hadn't done it herself, no one would have kept her and Jeyne safe from him.

The moment she took his life brought Sansa back to that long ago day beside the Blackwater Rush when she watched a man die for the first time. She recalled every detail in vivid color. The sun shining off the armor, the banners flapping in the win, the crimson blood pulsing from the fallen knight's neck where Ser Gregor Clegane's lance snapped off. She remembered the fascination that kept her gaze secured on the corpse as the blood soaked into the dirt. That same fascination consumed her when she stared at what remained of Qyle.

She might be staring still if Jeyne hadn't pleaded for them to go.

"I'll tell them I fell and hit my head," Sansa told Jeyne. "Or walked into a low branch."

A loud rustling sounded a ways away and Sansa tightened her grip on the knife. The sound continued a moment longer until a tall boy with shaggy black hair came striding into view.

"There you two are," Gendry said. "Yoren sent me looking for you." He paused. "What happened to your head? You two been fighting?"

"No, I tripped over a root and bumped my head," Sansa said.

Gendry looked at her as though reading the lie upon her face. But he said nothing.

They followed the boy back to the wagons in silence. As they neared the trail beside the river, Yoren was giving orders and the others were preparing to depart.

"What happened to your head, boy?" the black brother asked.

She recited the lie and he asked no more.

Sansa quickly retrieved her courser and climbed into the saddle.

_No one will discover what happened,_ she assured herself. _We will ride away and no one will think anything amiss, not until we're far, far away._

She reined up beside Jeyne's wagon and gave her the shadow of a smile. _All will be well._

"Where's Qyle?"

Sansa didn't know who asked. She only felt her heart plummet into her tummy.

Yoren cursed. "Who saw him last? Where'd he go?"

"Went off to stretch his legs," Dobber said. "Can't say I know where. That was more than an hour ago."

"Might be he's run off." Yoren frowned. "Not a thing I can do if he did. He offered to join up. A man's free to change his mind so long as it's before he takes his vows."

Sansa's relief was palpable. But a second later, the black brother deflated her elation.

"But we'll have a look around in case he got himself lost."

Yoren sent Dobber, Cutjack, and Kurz in different directions to search.

Squeezing her reins, Sansa listened in silent dread as they called out Qyle's name again and again getting farther away with each call. She couldn't look at Yoren, though she desperately wished to. She yearned to beg that he call off this search and flee. But then he would know for certain she had done something wicked.

_They won't find him,_ she told herself, knowing it was a lie.

"I 'spect that fish Kurz caught won't feel all o' us," Gerren grumbled.

"Not if there's only one," Yoren said. "We'll reach the town by the God's Eye before dark. We'll sell all we got for some food and might be we'll hire a boat to get us across the lake to Harrenhal."

"What if there ain't no village?" Woth asked. "What if it's burned same as the ones before? We're outta food. Near starving."

The crow spat. "You don't know nothing o' starving. Wait till you're on your first ranging beyond the Wall. That'll learn you a thing or two."

The recruits grew quiet after that. In the silence a tension grew. Sansa could feel it rising around her. In the distance, she heard the shouting change. They no longer called for Qyle. One of them was yelling, "Here! Over here!"

Sansa's courser whinnied at her tightening grip on the reins. She looked to Jeyne and was relieved to see no tears running down her friend's face as she rocked the crying girl. Her eyes were still swollen and red though.

_They won't know it was us. They won't._

More silence passed. And then more. And even more.

Tarber strolled his donkey over to Jeyne's wagon. "You look even worse than this morning. You really must be sick."

Jeyne looked up at him, stricken. But she still managed to say, "Yes, I'm very ill."

"A once every moon's turn illness, I'd wager."

Sansa's heart stilled. She looked up to see Dobber, Cutjack, and Kurz returning with a limp corpse sagging between them. They dropped him in the road not far from Sansa and Jeyne. Yoren rode over and studied what remained of Qyle. Among the recruits, he had been well liked. Everyone drew near to see what had become of him. Sansa did too, to give the appearance of curiosity.

Qyle looked just as he had when Sansa and Jeyne fled from his corpse. Half his face was crushed in from the force of her blows. His breeches were still unfastened, exposing his manhood for all to see.

"This was your work, wasn't it you little cunt!" Dobber pointed an accusing finger at Jeyne. "Look at him. He was about to have a go with you before you went and killed him."

"No." Jeyne shook her head. "No, I didn't. I swear it."

"Leave off, Dobber," Yoren said. "There ain't no cunts here but you. Night's Watch gots no use for women."

"Then why'd you go and bring one along with us?" Cutjack asked. "None o' us have had a woman since King's Landing. Putting a woman right in front o' us… that's just wantin' trouble even if she is in breeches."

"Who's a woman?" Hot Pie asked.

Sansa hadn't noticed him stepping beside her. Gendry reined up on the other side of her with a furrow in his brow that made him look more a bull than a stag.

"That pretty little girl there with the brown hair," Cutjack said.

"T'other one too, most like," Dobber said, gesturing to Sansa.

"Nah, that lad's near as tall as me," old Reysen said, leaning on his staff.

"Prettiest _boy_ I ever saw."

All at once, twenty voices came clashing together around Sansa. Even two of the prisoners in chains were shouting and rattling.

"Thought the Watch didn't take women!" someone yelled.

"We're near starving and you wasted food on some useless women?!" Gerren shouted.

"Y'tell a man he gots to swear celibacy the rest o' his life and then throw girls in front o' him?"

"It weren't Qyle's fault you tempted him with a girl, freshly flowered and all."

The scrape of Yoren's dirk against the leather sheath sliced through the shouting. "Quiet, the lot o' you!" the black brother yelled.

He had to shout and threaten a few more times to gain silence.

"Don't know how Qyle died. Most like we never will. But that don't make them girls. The only girl here is the little'un. And don't go trying to tell me she did for Qyle."

Sansa surveyed the recruits gathered about them. The disbelief and resentment might as well have been engraved upon their faces. But the crow continued on as though his word settled the matter.

"We need to get to digging another hole for the body," Yoren said. "Woth, Cutjack, get the shovels. Be quick about it. I mean to reach the God's Eye before nightfall."

Woth looked ready to argue, but Cutjack just shoved his arm.

"What's it matter now?" Cutjack asked. "Let's just get Qyle buried."

Woth muttered and moved to obey, striding to the wagon they kept the shovels in.

Sansa closed her eyes and released a breath of relief.

"If theys boys, they can prove it easy enough," Reyson said. "Pull out your cocks. Let's have a look."

"You make a habit of looking at cocks?" Tarber asked with a laugh.

Sansa forced out a laugh too. She prayed a desperate prayer that the others would join in. A few chuckled briefly. But most merely ran their gazes over her and Jeyne. Her friend didn't help matters. Jeyne was crying again. Slowly, Sansa's own laugh trailed off.

"Go on then," Lommy said. "We must've seen them a thousand times since leaving King's Landing."

"_I_ ain't seen nobody's," Tarber said.

"Just do it," the green-handed boy insisted.

"I won't," Sansa said. Beneath the cloak, she closed her hand around the hilt of her knife. "I don't have to show anyone my- my cock. Just leave us be. We didn't do anything."

"Leave off, the lot o' you!" Yoren repeated.

Dobber pushed past him toward Sansa. "Let's have a look then."

"No." Sansa pulled the knife from her cloak and held it in front of herself with both hands. "Stay back."

The recruit laughed. "You going to kill me, little girl?"

"I will," she said_. I've killed already,_ she thought. _Better that then let them hurt me._

"No, he won't, but I will." Yoren came up behind Dobber and slid the dirk against his throat. "Stop threatening your brothers or we'll be digging two graves instead o' one."

Sansa was so concentrated on Dobber that she almost didn't see the metal swinging through the air.

"No!" she cried as Gendry shouted, "Behind you!"

Yoren was an old man, but quicker than he looked. The blow of Woth's shovel was seconds away from bashing his head in when he swerved out of the way. In his place, the spade of the shovel struck Dobber so hard it left a curving dent in the back of his head after he folded to the ground.

Everything happened too quickly for Sansa to fully comprehend it all.

Her courser cried out and shied away from Dobber's twitching body. She nearly collided into Gendry's horse. The knife she held slipped from her hands as she scrambled to grasp for the reins. Steadying her courser, Sansa glanced up in time to see Yoren pulling his dirk out of Woth's body and kicking him to the ground. Cutjack smashed his stonemason's hammer against another recruit, who looked to be making a grab for Jeyne. Old Reyson was swinging his staff. The stick missed its target and struck Lommy hard in the back of the head with a sickening thud.

Almost everyone seemed to be fighting or running around. She couldn't keep track of who was siding with whom.

A hand patted Sansa's leg. She shrieked and slapped at the unknown assailant only to find that it was Hot Pie.

"Stop it, you stupid." He punched her in the thigh. "I only meant to give you your stupid knife."

"I'm sorry." She took the weapon gratefully. "Thank you."

The blond boy glanced around the fray, frightened.

"I-I don't know nothing about sword fighting," he said, sword in hand.

"Neither do I," Sansa said.

"Hey!" Gendry cried on the other side of her. "They're stealing the horses."

She would have looked to see what he was talking about, but Yoren's fight directly in front of her was of more urgency than some wagon horses. The black brother was occupied with combatting two others. They matched his dirk and dagger with daggers and cheap swords of their own. Even as he cut one down, the other slid behind him. Sansa cried out as Gerren thrust his dagger into Yoren's back.

_No, no, no, no… He was supposed to take me home to Winterfell._

The dagger remained embedded in his twisted shoulder as he swirved around. The other man dodged his swing easily enough.

"I don't mean to starve beyond no Wall, old man," Gerren growled.

Sansa heard the pounding of hooves, but she couldn't take her eyes from Yoren, willing him to survive as his parries grew slower and the blood spread.

"Don't you?" Yoren asked. His dirk met Gerren's steel. "Then you'll be feeding worms down here."

They clashed again and again, the sounds of their swords blending into a melody.

Just once Yoren wasn't quick enough and Gerren's blade thrust into him.

"I told you, I ain't starving at no Wall," he yelled.

With a hiss, Yoren spat blood in his face. Gerren shoved him away and he collapsed to the ground.

"No!" Sansa wailed. Her courser whinnied and jerked in response.

It wasn't supposed to happen this way. He was supposed to bring her home to her mother. He was supposed to keep her safe. But Yoren was dead now.

If her father were here, he would take Gerren's head for this. A true knight wouldn't have allowed this to come to pass at all. But her father was dead and there were no true knights anywhere abouts. There was only her.

Gerren had his foot pressed atop Yoren's belly as he pulled his sword out.

Tears seared down Sansa's face as she kicked her heels into her courser and closed the short distance between her and Gerren. He was still struggling to free his sword when she brought her knife down on his exposed neck.

Blood splattered up at her as he turned toward her, splitting his neck open even further. Her horse reared and cried at the spray of gore. Once again, she lost the knife in the effort to hold onto the reins.

Sansa kept her seat, but didn't even try to stop the courser from bolting away from the bloody scene. The horse ran alongside the river, down past the rear wagons, and further still. Eventually, the courser slowed of her own accord. She began eating grass beside the riverbed as though nothing had just transpired. The girl desperately wished she too could pretend nothing was amiss.

Stiffly, Sansa slipped down from the saddle. The world had suddenly grown very quiet. The only sound was the pounding in her ears. She needed something, anything to think about that would distract from what just happened.

Taking note of the splattered stain across the horse's long face, she decided it would be best to give her a washing. She took the reins again with her blood coated fingers and walked her into the river. The courser resisted at first, but she soon yielded. The current flowed around them, rinsing away the blood until the only the stains on her tunic and breeches remained.

The courser soon left her to return to shore and the grassy meal. But Sansa hesitated to leave the water and what awaited her on shore. Whether she stood there for moments or hours, she didn't know.

Sometime later, Jeyne found her standing in the river well past her waist. The crying girl waddled at her friend's heels. She wrapped her tiny arms around Jeyne's calf.

The sight of them forced Sansa to think of all the trouble they were in. If only she could just swim away. Swim all the way to Winterfell and never come south again.


End file.
